The Lemon Tree
by the.ravenclaw.woods
Summary: Anyone else just here for the lemons? Welcome to The Lemon Tree. A lemon a chapter, numerous pairings. Lemons start on Chapter Two (Chapter One contains the Table of Contents and a brief description). Let's have a Theo/Hermione pairing start us off. By request, UPDATED with a Harry/Andromeda, entitled "A Different Sort of Dessert." Enjoy!
1. Table of Contents

Table of Contents

 **Chapter Two: Theo/Hermione** \- When Hermione took a vial of Liquid Luck for the purpose of getting laid, she never expected it'd lead her to Theo Nott.

 **Chapter Three: Snape/Hermione** \- Snape is ready to leave the Ministry's New Year's Eve Gala when he finds himself stuck in a room alone with Hermione Granger.

 **Chapter Four: Snape/Hermione** \- Under the new law, Severus and Hermione are required to consummate their marriage.

 **Chapter Five: Kingsley/Hermione** \- Kingsley Shaklebolt has been ignoring Hermione, and she's not leaving the office 'til she finds out why.

 **Chapter Six: Snape/Hermione** \- After torturing her at work for ages, Hermione steals Snape's portrait and brings him home. One night several months later, she finally gets her revenge.

 **Chapter Seven: Andromeda/Harry** \- Andromeda demands a different sort of dessert at her weekly dinner with Harry.


	2. Liquid Luck

Liquid Luck: Theo/Hermione

"Okay," Hermione said to the gold bottle in her hand. It sparkled in the rays of moonlight, as though it contained some sacred secret.

That secret, actually, would be some mysterious pathway of luck laid out before her this evening. Liquid Luck, to be exact. And Hermione wasn't sure how, but what she wanted tonight—desperately needed, in fact—would be given to her thanks to this teeny little collection of potion ingredients, thrown together in the most magnificent of ways, to create Felix Felicis.

She was sitting in a redwood park just outside the restaurant where, in fact, the rehearsal dinner to Ron's wedding was just getting started. She had nothing against it, not really. She was happy for them. She thought Aurora, one of Fleur's cousins, was a sweet and breathtaking lady.

It was more that she felt exponential degrees of pity for herself. And she was getting sick of it.

"Please," she said to the bottle, as though it were listening. "I mean, three orgasms at the minimum. Please." It was three more orgasms than she'd experience with each of her last four lays over the course of the year. She was getting thoroughly tired of bedding men who either had no idea how to touch her or didn't even bother to try.

So, yes, she'd wasted about three paychecks over a mini-bottle of Liquid Luck for the sole purpose of shagging. Was it as pathetic as it sounded?

She knew it was. But it was too late, now, anyway. Felix Felicis was one of those potions with no return policies.

And gods, she needed cock.

So she opened it and tossed it back quickly, letting the taste of oranges and roses glide down her throat.

And, just like that, she felt better. "Mm," she said aloud, to no one. Then she giggled.

x

Hermione gasped as she entered the restaurant. Molly and Fleur had outdone themselves. Pink and peach rose vines intertwined over the walls and ceiling, coming to an apex at the chandelier. Rustic, sea-grey chairs surrounded small round tables which contained centerpieces of levitating, rose-shaped lanterns. Normally, Hermione'd wrinkle her nose at such obvious symbolism, but right now, under the tender guidance of luck, she hummed happily. It was all so romantic.

Witches and wizards had already filled the tables and were working at glasses of wine and appetizers. She knew there was no chance of getting a spot near Gin or Harry—they were part of the wedding party and so had their assigned seats near the couple of the hour—and so she searched along the windows in the back, hoping to find a seat.

She found one. One. Right between Anthony Goldstein and Theo Nott.

She hummed to herself as she made her way to the table. Anthony took notice of her first, his eyes glazing up and down her form. She wore a sleeved tea dress the color of champagne, unbuttoned enough at the top to expose an extraordinary amount of cleavage thanks to the Witch Weekly's Reader-Voted WondrousBra of the Year. Her favorite part of the dress was the skirt, light and airy with its silk-like layers, charmed to swivel prettily with each movement.

Anthony pushed himself up and pulled out the chair when her intentions became obvious. "Is no one sitting here?" she asked.

"Not at all, Hermione." He gave her big smile. He was rather charming, wasn't he? He'd lost some of that baby face he'd had in Hogwarts, and he'd broadened at the shoulders, too.

She glanced to her right, where Theo regarded her with not the contempt she'd feared, but curiosity. "Nott," she said. He gave her a nod and turned to watch something in the distance, taking a sip of wine.

She took a breath and touched the goblet in front of her, which instantly filled itself. "Oh, lovely," she said, taking a long sip.

"They're all spelled to refill, it seems," Anthony said.

"Guess we're in for a fun night, eh?" Hermione chuckled, finishing her first glass quickly.

"You seem chipper," Anthony said. "I thought you might not be here. You know, with your history." He gestured to Ron and Aurora's table.

Hermione thought she'd caught Nott rolling his eyes at Anthony's commentary. She angled herself to face Anthony. "Why wouldn't I be here? I'm so happy for them, and it's just beautiful, isn't it? All these roses." She stood and snapped a dusk-pink bloom off of the wall vine behind her. She grabbed her wand and set it into her hair with a spell, just behind her ear. "That look alright?" she asked Anthony.

"Beautiful," he grinned, failing to discreetly check her cleavage before turning to introduce the rest of the table, filled with aurors she'd met here and there while dating Ron. The only one she hadn't spent some time with was Nott, but then again, he was new to the program, having just joined it after the death of his father.

Servers appeared and set the tables with dishes of lemon-poached salmon and stuffed roast quail, with a variety of butter-laden sides. "Oh!" Hermione said, when her dish was in front of her. "Would you look at that? It's so pretty! And look there, written in some type of vinaigrette, their initials! Is this not the sweetest thing?"

Theo snorted beside her. She was vaguely aware of how absurd she sounded, but she was just too happy to care. She turned and gave him a wink, which he narrowed his eyes at, taking another long swig of wine.

She chatted animatedly with Anthony and an auror named Leah as she ate. Soon, the clanking of goblets was sounded, and everyone quieted to hear the speeches of the Best Man, Harry, and the Maid-of-Honor, Fleur. Hermione dabbed at the corners of her eyes during their toasts, clapping furiously when they finished and the dance floor opened up to a live band.

Theo snorted once again at her display, just loud enough for her to hear. She turned to him. "What is it, Nott?"

He finished his wine and it refilled immediately. He fingered it for a moment and turned to her. "I'm just gonna say it, Granger. Who licked your cunt today?"

She felt the beginnings of shock at such potent vulgarity, but it was quickly soothed away by Felix Felicis. She raised her eyebrows. "That's the whole problem. No one has. Not for ages." She edged her chair close to him, which caused him to open his eyes just a touch wider. He didn't budge as she said, "You wanna know a secret?"

He stared at her for a good few moments before giving a half shrug. She leaned in, until her chin was on his shoulder, just a couple inches away from his ear. "I'm getting lucky tonight."

He shivered. She could tell he tried to suppress it, but as her chin was on him, she felt the involuntary quiver, ever so slight. She was surprised at how much it delighted her. She pulled back just as quickly as she'd leaned in, and adjusted her chair, awaiting his response.

He regarded her carefully. "With whom?"

She grinned. "I've no idea. Care to help me figure it out?"

He glanced around and said, "Well. I've got nothing better on the agenda. Why not." He threw up a hand.

"Okay! Good! This is good!"

He rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm and returned to nursing his wine. She gestured to Anthony, who was in a deep discussion with Leah. "What about Goldstein?" she asked quietly.

"Nah," Theo responded. "He's been pining after Leah for months. Even if she never reciprocates…" he paused. "You want someone who's not thinking of someone else while they're with you."

"Even if it's just for a one-off?"

He gave a gruff nod. "Trust me. It ruins the mood."

"What about Neville?" She nodded to Longbottom, who'd surprised everyone and turned into a tall, chiseled sex-god-looking-creature since graduating from Hogwarts.

"No fucking way."

"Why not?" Hermione retorted. "He looks great."

"So he's been lifting. Doesn't matter. I guarantee Longbottom couldn't eat pussy if his life depended on it."

"And how on earth would you know that?"

He narrowed his eyes. "It's a skill that takes time to learn. Longbottom hasn't looked like that long enough for the prerequisite experience."

"Oh, fine." Hermione huffed and finished her second glass of wine. "Have any recommendations, then?"

He gave a great sigh as though she'd asked him to spend the evening feeding thestrals. He took a gander around the restaurant, eyes flitting from wizard to wizard. "Maybe one of the Weasleys. That older bloke with the face scars."

"Bill? He's married."

"So?"

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but instead she found herself entirely amused by such an absurd suggestion. Bill? Really? And compete with Fleur, a goddess among witches? She giggled so hard, she snorted a bit, which caused her to cover her mouth and double in laughter. Eventually, even Theo quirked up the corners of his mouth.

"Ha!" Hermione said, pointing. "You smiled."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

He gave a noise of disagreement, a disgruntled gruff of some sort. Hermione took a long look at him. Theo wore his hair cropped short, and from the looks of how he filled his suit, he, too, had made a habit to "lift" lately. The biggest change, perhaps, was that he'd grown a full beard. Nothing too long. It did him good, framing his full lips, the dark brown of it setting off his hazel eyes.

"What are you looking at, Granger?"

Liquid Luck eased her into speaking exactly what she was thinking. "You. You look handsome, Theo."

"Hmph," he said grumpily, though she noticed that he straightened his back a touch.

She turned when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "There you are," Harry said. "You look nice, Hermione."

"Harry!" She squealed and threw herself into his arms. "Your speech was the best thing I ever heard in my life. Honestly. You should put it in a little booklet and publish it! Gods, who knew you were such a poet?"

Harry stared at her. "How much wine have you had, Hermione?"

"It's not the wine, mate," Theo spoke up from behind them. "She's been like that since she got here."

"Oh, you." Hermione waved Theo off as she put her arm around Harry's. "Want to dance?" she said.

"Sure," Harry responded.

He guided her to the dance floor, where he spun her around so goofily, she got dizzy and nearly fell over, laughing. "Harry! Don't do that!"

"Why not?" Harry asked. "You're fun when you're tipsy."

She hit his shoulder and danced more formally with him as they caught up with one another, until another warm hand came upon her shoulder. "Dean bloody Thomas!" She threw her arms around him. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Woah, Hermione. What a welcome," Dean said, tentatively putting his arms around her.

"How are things?!" she asked as she pulled him off the dance floor. As he filled her in on his new teaching position at Hogwarts, she glanced just beyond him and saw Theo, leaned back against his chair, legs positioned wide in a typical "manspread," staring directly at her. She discreetly gestured to Dean, to which Theo slowly shook his head, his lips quirking up in that ever-so-appealing manner.

She bit back an exasperated sigh, but continued to flutter from person to person, chatting up just about any willing witch or wizard, as she felt compelled to just enjoy herself. After a while, the lights came back on, and folks began saying their goodbyes. "Already?" Hermione said, a slight whine in her voice.

"Sorry, darling," Ginny said, kissing her cheek. "We've got to rest up for the wedding tomorrow."

"Right, I almost forgot about it. Oh, it's going to be so wonderful, isn't it, Gin?"

Ginny shook her head. "Hermione, I'm going to find out whatever you've been snorting tonight and make you cut some for me tomorrow."

Hermione giggled and bid her farewells. When she turned to retrieve her bag, she noted that Theo was still at the table, sitting by his lonesome. She marched over to him, hands on her hips. "Have you moved an inch since you got here?"

He didn't even turn his head to look at her. "Took a piss about a half hour ago."

Hermione rolled her eyes and made to leave, but inexplicably, she plopped down in her chair, instead. "So, what's the matter with Dean Thomas?"

"Just got out of a relationship with some witch from Germany. He'd probably weep into your shoulder afterward."

"Well, aren't you the gossip," Hermione said, glancing at the table. "Oh! I missed dessert!" She grabbed a fork and took a bite of the ten-layer chocolate cake, noting that Theo's dessert plate was empty. "You like chocolate," she said.

"Nice deduction, Granger. Perhaps you should join the Ministry's department of investigative aurors."

She chuckled. "What are you even still doing here?" she asked.

"I've been asking myself that about every ten minutes for the last hour, coincidentally enough."

"You've got chocolate on your hand," she said.

He groaned and grabbed a napkin, wiping it away. "So have you found your fuck for the night, then?"

Hermione gestured to the emptying restaurant. "Not yet. But!" She held up a finger. "Maybe I'll meet someone at the hotel!"

"You Gryffindors," he grumbled as he stood, straightening his jacket. "So bloody optimistic."

She got to her feet, as well. "Well, I got especially dressed up tonight." She gestured to her outfit. "If you were just some bloke on the street, wouldn't you think I was pretty? And maybe want to go home with me?"

"You've been acting half-mad all night, Granger. That would give me pause."

"You mean you're not the least bit curious?" She took a few steps toward him, her heels clicking on the marble floor. He stared down at her, throwing a hand in his beard, smoothing it nervously. "Oh, look at that," she said, her voice husky. "You missed a spot of icing." She grabbed his hand, noting how warm and large it was, and put his finger in her mouth.

She knew she should be mortified, and somewhere under the happy influence of Liquid Luck, she was. But as she lightly sucked and swirled her tongue on him, his breath hitched and his lovely pink lips parted. And she could find no regret with her raunchy gesture. None at all.

She released his hand and he simply stared at her for a few moments, his chest moving a bit faster with breath. Finally, he grabbed her waist and pulled her to him aggressively, and bent towards her.

There was a crack of apparition as he transported her along with him. She couldn't find the will to care just yet, as his lips met hers. Theo moved his over hers softly, his hands still at her waist. She ran her own up his arms and finally around his neck as she tilted her head and opened her mouth to his tongue.

Merlin, where on earth did he learn how to kiss like that? The man kissed like… like she was the only woman he'd ever wanted.

She pushed back after a moment and looked around. They were in a fancy hallway of some sort, with gold-lined walls. "Where are we?"

"We're at my hotel. My room is that way." He gestured behind him.

She glanced in the direction and dropped her arms. Sensing her hesitation, he lowered his hands from her waist to his sides.

"I thought you didn't like muggleborns," she said, looking up at him.

"I'll make an exception for you." His words were slow and calculated, but there was a touch of desperation in his throat. Despite that, her face fell at his declaration.

"Uh," she took a step back. "I think I change my mind."

He blinked. "Why?"

She bit her lip. "When you say that. That you'll make an exception for me? It sounds an awful lot like, 'you're pretty or smart or whatever for a muggleborn.' It's just a bit of a turn-off. But that's—that's how you feel, and I don't know what I was expecting. I'm not even sure why—" She felt her face burn and she knew that the Liquid Luck must be on its last leg, if that. "I should go." She turned quickly, trying to figure the way to the lobby, since she wasn't sure she was sober enough to apparate.

"Granger," he said. She stopped and listened to his footsteps approaching. He rounded upon her, his face entirely unreadable.

"Yes, Nott?" she said, looking behind him for an exit sign.

He paused for a moment longer and exhaled. "I'm sorry."

She furrowed her brow. "For…"

"For being a git to you in school. For making you feel small just now." He took a breath. "I haven't bought that pureblood rubbish since I was ten years old."

"Then why did you just say you'd make an exception for me?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm not a verbose man." She snorted as he continued. "I just said the first thing that came to me, something I thought would make you feel good. But it was shite and I'm sorry."

She bit her lip. "How do I know you're not lying? I mean, as nice as this sounds, it's rather convenient timing for this sort of confession, wouldn't you say?"

He shrugged. "You could ask Malfoy. He and I argued for years over whether or not muggleborns were mud."

"Malfoy's not around."

"I know." He sighed. "Look, I don't know how to prove it to you. All I know right now is I haven't been able to take my bloody eyes off you since you put that flower-thing in your hair. And all evening, I've been hoping to Salazar you wouldn't go home with some other sodding wanker. And fuck, Hermione." She widened her eyes at the sound of her name on his tongue. He closed the space between them with two wide steps. "I want to lick you until you forget your own fucking name. And then I want to pound into you until you forget mine."

His words made her wet. She knew it as he was saying it, as the warmth between her legs began to throb. She closed her eyes to steady her feet.

"Granger?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you gonna let me?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes." He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss that made her knees buckle.

X

The stumble into his room was probably more awkward than necessary, given their mutual reluctance to break their frenzied make-out session at any point. Once inside, Theo dropped the wand he'd used to open the wards and ran his hands over her hips, up to her waist, his fingers hovering at underwire of her bra. And as he did this, Hermione sucked on his bottom lip until he groaned softly and shoved his jacket down his arms and onto the floor.

He tore off his tie and ran his lips on her neck, waiting until he found a spot that made her whimper, then he'd graze his teeth and suck so that her hands trembled, delaying her unbuttoning of his dress shirt. He set to work on the upper buttons of her dress, and after about two, seemed to decide their efforts took much too long for his liking, and ripped his own shirt off and pulled her entire dress to the floor all in one motion.

She blinked at him for a couple seconds as buttons rattled on the tile. "I liked that dress," she said.

"You're a witch." he responded. " _Reparo_ later." He lowered his head to her cleavage and she immediately forgot what she was just irritated over.

She unbuckled his belt as he unclasped her bra, sending it flying somewhere behind him. Hermione watched closely as he ogled her breasts, taut and smooth with dark nipples. She glanced down. "Sorry, I know the bra made them look bigger but—" He interrupted her by taking one into his mouth, lapping at the pebble of it as she arched her chest into him and moaned. He turned and worked his tongue on the other one, shoving her knickers to her ankles. She stepped out of them when he grabbed her bottom, lifting her to the nearby dresser.

She gasped when he dropped and ran his tongue over her slit, not expecting it quite so soon. He was gentle at first, much too gentle given how long it'd been and how aroused she was already. "More," she pleaded, which he took to mean faster. But no, she'd meant harder, and eventually, she pushed his face into her pussy, and she nearly came at the friction between her and his beard.

Predictably, Theo had been a rather quiet lover so far, but when she got rougher with him—pulling his hair, scratching him with her nails, grinding herself on his tongue—he gave deep groans which made her hair stand up.

He finished her off by giving her clit several enthusiastic sucks between his lips. "Oh, gods, Theo," she moaned when she came, startled by a warm gush between her legs. When he rose, she could see that his beard was _dripping_.

Her face burned as she caught her breath. "Was that—did I—are you—?"

"You've never squirted before, Granger?"

She shook her head, certain her cheeks were the color of the rose in her hair. But he didn't look disgusted. In fact, he looked rather pleased as he gave his face a wandless _scorgify_ and pulled his cock out of his trousers.

She wrapped her legs around his waist as he sank into her. He paused for a moment to look directly in her eyes. She was startled by the flecks of gold in his, and she cupped his face in her hands, kissing him deeply as he resumed his thrusting.

His body was lean, with cuts of muscle jutting agreeably in his arms and stomach. He bore a light layer of chest hair which led a pathway down to the thatch of medium-brown curls above his package. He kept his eyes closed as he pumped, occasionally letting a growl escape his throat. She saw that his eyelashes were thick and long, and a dark beauty mark dotted his bottom lip line.

Perhaps noticing how quiet she was, he opened his eyes, slowing his movements. "How do you like to be fucked, Granger?"

"This is good," she said, pulling his hips toward hers hard, earning a loud smack of skin and a low whimper from his lips.

"Granger," he repeated, an almost feral warning in his voice as he stopped moving and put his hands on her arms. "How do you like it?"

He put a thumb to her clit and dragged it in circles, causing her to whine. "I—uh—gods. On my back. With my legs up."

He picked her up and tossed her in the middle of the bed. Crawling upon it, he pushed her legs up, until her calves were nearly at her head, and slid himself into her. She couldn't control the moans as he thrust, arching her back so much that she felt like she was levitating away from the bed. "More," she said desperately, and this time, he understood, pounding into her so hard, the headboard clattered against the wall.

Her entire body spasmed as what appeared to be ten orgasms rolled into one overcame her. She briefly wondered if someone could die of pleasure, when finally, it started to subside. She looked up in time to watch Theo come apart with a soft moan, his eyes on hers. When he collapsed over her, she ran her fingers lightly over the goose bumps on his back and bottom.

For a few minutes, the only movement that occurred was in their breathing. Eventually, Theo pushed himself up and to the side, facing her. She turned herself to him, her fingertips grazing his beard. He gave her a gentle smile.

"I like it," she said. "The beard."

"Mm," he responded.

She rolled her eyes. "Back to your caveman responses already?"

He gave her a look. "Fine, Granger. I'm glad you like my beard. That better?"

She smiled. "Not quite, Theo. But I guess I'll take what I can get." She rolled off the bed and started picking up her clothes.

He put his arms behind his head. "What are you doing?"

She pulled her bra on and snapped the clasp together. "I'm leaving. Have you seen my knickers?"

"Why?"

"Because they're very nice knickers and I've only worn them twice and—"

"No, not that. Why are you leaving?"

"Well, I mean, it's a little late for another go, especially 'cause of the wedding tomorrow."

"Hmph," he said.

She pulled on her knickers, grabbed her wand and went to work at repairing her dress. She didn't noticed that Theo had flung himself off the bed until he snatched the dress from her arms.

"Bloody hell, Nott, I'd nearly gotten all the buttons! What was that for?"

"Stay with me."

She sighed. "I told you, we can't."

"Stay the night, Granger."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh! You mean for sleeping."

"Yes. That."

"Well…" she bit her lip, looking around. "Do you have a shirt I could wear?"

He looked unbearably relieved as he levitated a green t-shirt from his armoire into her arms. She took it to the bathroom along with her purse, where she'd packed her toothbrush and other toiletries (with the anticipation of a successful shag at the end of the evening). After washing up, she took the rose out of her hair and placed it on the sink, giving it a freshening spell. Then she unclipped her curls, letting them fall upon her shoulders. She pulled on his shirt, deciding to forgo all underthings.

He entered the room as she left, presumably to do much the same. She pulled the sheets up to her chest and after a few minutes, felt him rustling into the covers.

She rested her head on her arm as she angled herself to him. "So, Nott. Are you a snuggler?"

He snorted. "Do I look like a bloody Hufflepuff to you?"

She sighed and turned to her back, wondering why he'd even asked her to stay. "Get the lamps, would you?"

He picked up his wand and did so. Afterward, they were only lit with the dim blue of streetlights streaming around the curtains.

He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She tilted her head towards his. "I thought you didn't like snuggling."

"Hmph," he said. He grabbed and kissed her hand.

She smiled, resting her head on his chest, and they drifted to a happy sleep.


	3. Snape's New Year Kiss

Snape's New Year Kiss: Snape/Hermione

Severus Snape sighed and took another sip of champagne, inwardly cursing Harry bloody Potter. He'd attended exactly zero of the countless, unnecessary Ministry-hosted events celebrating the end of the War. Until now.

Snape glanced at Potter as he doted upon his wife, the Weasley woman. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Potter's fucking nerve, naming his second born after _him_ of all bloody people. And if that weren't enough, asking him to be _godfather_ to Albus. It was preposterous.

Finally, the last nail on the cross- Potter guilting him to attend this Merlin-forsaken _thing_. Snape's eyes darted around the ballroom, to the Milky Way-enchanted sky to the sickeningly affectionate couples on the dance floor. He was here for one reason and one reason only. Potter had caught him at a weak moment, near the anniversary of Lily's death. "My mum would've wanted you to get out and have fun, you know. You deserve it."

Snape finished his champagne in one go. Deserve. Potter knew nothing of what he did or didn't deserve, but Severus Snape, despite the accolades and medals and title of War Hero, knew that he wasn't ultimately what one would consider a good man. Yet, here he was, playing the part, nodding at all the wizards and witches who tripped over themselves to become acquainted with the Lovelorn Dark Prince (as bloody Skeeter had recently christened him on her latest lie-filled tell-all.)

"Professor Snape!"

Snape sighed and took an extraordinary length of time to incline his head toward the voice. He grimaced at the sight of George Weasley's freckled, beaming face.

"Enjoying the champagne, are we?"

Snape glanced at his empty flute. "Is there a point to this conversation, Mr. Weasley?"

George laughed and- the nerve!- gave him a smack on the shoulder. "I expect you'll be feeling a tad less grumpy, soon. Hell, by the end of the night, you might have to give up your nickname, Grumpiest Grump Who Ever Grumped." George snorted into his own champagne.

Ah, yes. Another one of Skeeter's gems. But suspicion overcame annoyance in Snape as he glared at George. "What did you put in this?"

George shrugged. " _I_ didn't put anything in it, sir. Tonight, I mean."

Snape's mouth formed a thin line. "Explain."

George grinned. "Let it be known, Professor, you _are_ drinking the debut release of Weasley Wizarding Wheezes vineyard venture, the Champagne Chortle."

Snape groaned and gave the empty flute a sniff, which he should've done to start with. He'd become less vigilant in recent years, taking some respite in the fact that he no longer had to spy for and on the most evil wizard in all of history. His change in demeanor had been mostly without consequence. Until now.

"Everpink hearts," Snape said, dropping the flute from his nose. "Blister peach. And a pinch of _evaberry_ \- are you mad?"

George's eyes twinkled. "I knew you still had it in you, ol' boy. And no, not mad. Just looking forward to seeing everyone get their New Year's kiss."

Snape snorted. "That concoction won't ensure kissing, Mr. Weasley. Even with that evaberry. You should know-"

"Right, right. Just a pinch will cause bit of flirting, snuggling, but all mixed with some old fashioned New Year's romance- there will be plenty of kissing, Professor. Mark my words." George actually wrapped his arm over the shoulders of Snape. "See any witches that tickle your fancy? Might want to strike while the cauldron's hot. That's what I like to-"

"Remove your arm from my person, Mr. Weasley, or else you will be leaving here with something missing in addition to an ear."

George dropped his arm. "Aw, Professor. You don't find me end _ear_ ing?"

"Out of my sight, Mr. Weasley."

"Right," George said, leaning in. "Before I go, though, looks like you've got a beautiful witch coming your way. Eh? Eh? I'd say good timing for your _evaberry_ consumption."

"Mr. Weasley," Snape growled.

George took off, laughing.

Snape turned to meet the gaze of a rather worried-looking know-it-all swot. He sighed. This evening just keeps getting better and better.

x

Hermione Granger bit her lip and slipped her hand in her dress pocket, fingering the piece of parchment that had brought her to Snape's presence in the first place. How the bloody hell am I going to do this? she thought. I haven't even spoken and he already looks like he wants to rip me to pieces. And not in _that_ way, she scolded her dirty mind.

"Um," she began.

"Um, Ms. Granger?" Snape sneered. "I thought adulthood would perhaps refine your vocabulary, but apparently… not."

Hermione cleared her throat. She could do this. She had to, in fact. They both did, whether he hated her or not. Whether _she_ hated _him_ or not. Which was not, she corrected. She very much did _not_ hate him.

He continued to stare daggers at her as she cleared her throat. "May we speak in private, Professor?"

"We may not."

Hermione closed her eyes. Gods, this was already so much harder than she'd anticipated, and she certainly wasn't expecting it to be a breeze. She opened them again to see that Snape's expression had softened, like he was concerned, but he quickly scowled again. "Ms. Granger, if you're going to continue to stand there like a piece of dull furniture, I will be on my way now."

"No," she said, unable to control the urgency in her voice. "Don't go." Besides, you can't, she thought, but didn't say. "Professor, there's something I need to tell you. In private."

He exhaled loudly. "One of the sitting rooms, then." He turned and walked, clearly expecting her to follow. Which she did. Like a puppy. What choice did she have, really?

x

As soon as they entered the room- small but cozy, with paintings of landscapes on the walls and a couple violet sofas surrounding a gold coffee table- he slammed the door shut. "Yes, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione cleared her throat, her cheeks burning. "Perhaps we should sit?"

"No."

Hermione sat anyway. She was already feeling weak-kneed. "I participated in one of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes games earlier this evening. They're hosting the whole event, you know. In charge of food and drink and-" She coughed. "Really rather stupid on the Ministry's part, knowing those lot tend to get… inappropropriate with their… endeavors." She gulped and glanced up at him.

Snape stared, his whole face expressionless.

"Right, the game. It's the one where you get a command of sorts and you can't leave until you fulfill-"

"The point, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione sighed, averting her eyes away from his. She couldn't bear to look directly at him as she stated the rest of this stupid, idiotic predicament she'd found herself in. Bloody George Weasley and his games. "I have to kiss you. Sir."

x

Snape visibly recoiled, immediately earning a wince from Granger.

A kiss? Did he hear that right? Of course he did, his hearing was impeccable. A kiss. Bloody fucking _absurd_.

He immediately turned to leave, turning the door knob, which jammed. " _Alohomora_ ," he murmured. The door didn't budge. He pulled out his wand, aiming it directly at the knob. " _Alohomora_!" he roared. Nothing.

Granger cleared her throat. "Right, sir," she said, her voice quiet. "Until we fulfill the command, you can't leave, either."

Snape turned, his black eyes blazing. "I beg your pardon, Ms. Granger."

Hermione shivered at the deep growl of his voice. "Sir. It's the charm. Neither of us can leave until-"

"Then _why_ did you have me enter this room?"

"You wouldn't have been able to leave the party, either. Not since I received the parchment an hour ago."

Snape closed his eyes. This was what he got for giving in to Potter's bloody sentimental manipulations. He swore at that moment that this would be the last time he'd ever attend _anything_ hosted by the Ministry.

He turned and approached Granger. "Fine." Her eyes widened. "Stand," he said. She rose slowly, trembling. He stared at the shake in her hands. What was the matter with her, honestly? She likely wanted this much less than he did. He was no catch. He wasn't handsome. He was old enough to be her father. A young father. But all the same, her _father._

She, on the other hand, had grown into quite an attractive young lady. He wasn't blind. He'd just never allowed himself to do anything beyond notice that singular fact. Now, though, he allowed himself a bit more. He was, after all, about to kiss her.

Granger's eyes were rimmed in khol, making them appear a lighter brown than they already were. Her lips, full and painted pink. Her cheeks flushed. Her cheekbones were high, dusted in fine brown freckles and his eyes dropped to her shoulders where there was another smatter of freckles. As he noticed the few on her cleavage- not directly, of course, he wasn't stupid enough to let her catch him leering at her- he idly wondered what they'd taste like under his tongue. His cock stirred immediately, which pissed him off even more. He turned his glare back at her face, bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

x

The kiss was awful. Nothing like she'd fantasized about, and she'd fantasized about a number of sorts of kissing. He pressed his closed mouth to hers so hard, it nearly hurt. He pulled away just as abruptly as it began and walked to the door. She didn't even look up at him as he battled the door knob. He flung a few spells at it, then a few curses. She could hear that he was a bit breathless, though it was likely more out of frustration in his captivity than having just kissed her.

"Granger," he said, his voice in a tone of warning.

"Professor," she replied. "If you'll recall, I was the one who had to kiss you." She cleared her throat. "And, well. A little bit more."

"Explain."

She turned to him. His gaze was no longer expressionless. No, now Snape did nothing to hide his fury. She sighed. What on earth was George thinking?

"Now, Granger."

"I'm supposed to." She coughed. "Come on to you."

"Let me see the parchment." The words were spat out between clenched teeth.

"No, I can't. Besides, I don't have it anymore."

It was a lie, and though he likely knew it, he didn't let it on. She would never let him see that blasted paper, though not for the reasons he probably suspected.

He huffed and sat down on the sofa next to hers, staring at the wall, no doubt thinking of some way to get around this. "Have you tried any counter spells?"

"I've tried all the ones I know, sir."

"The _intermisso_?"

"A _clauditia_ was used to prevent that one. Moreover, they sort of sealed it with a _impervio fortis_. Believe me, Professor. I tried to get out of it."

His eyes flicked to hers. "Don't think I don't know exactly what you and your lot are doing, Granger. Trying to humiliate me? Get a laugh afterwards with all your friends? Or run off to Skeeter to tell her how the Dark Prince snogs?"

Hermione gasped. "How _dare_ you! You know as well as anyone that I hate Skeeter almost more than anyone in this world, and that's including Delores bloody Umbridge. Moreover, I am not a bully. I believe that's your department." She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

He almost let his eyes fall to the half-dozen freckles on her now-pushed-up bosom, then caught himself immediately. "Revenge, then. For my so-called… bullying."

"I know you think very little of me, Professor, but I am not that petty." She stood. "The fact is, I need to seduce you. The parchment said nothing of your response to it, so you may sit like a statue for all I care. Let me flatter you, kiss you, whatever. And then we can get the fuck out of here."

He shrugged as though she'd just offered a cup of tea. "Fine."

x

Granger stood, brushing something off her skirt, then walked toward Snape, who very much liked the idea of remaining nothing more than a statue. He didn't look at her as she approached, sat down, nor took his hand into hers.

"I've always liked your hands, Professor," she said. He snorted- not very statuesque, but he couldn't help it. This whole thing was ludacris. He was already drafting a complaint against the Ministry in his mind.

"They're large and long and lovely." She ran her fingers over his, making the skin tingle. He set his jaw in a hard line. He would not respond to Ms. Granger or her pathetic seduction.

She ran her hand up to his shoulder. His gaze remained fixed on the emerald curtains tightly shut over the window. "You've cut your hair recently?" She ran her fingers through it. "It was longer last time I saw you."

Ah, yes. Molly Weasley had wrangled him into a dinner gathering at the Burrow. He'd left as quickly as he could, though Granger had called him before he stepped into the floo. "Uh- nevermind," she had said, blushing. "Have a safe trip." Then she promptly ran away.

He'd thought about that farewell for far longer than he cared to admit. Just as he would probably think of this, her fingernails on his scalp, raising the hairs on his neck, for the rest of his bloody life.

He snapped his eyes back on the curtains before they rolled back into his head. "If this is your best attempt at seduction, Ms. Granger, than I can now understand why Mr. Weasley was so eager to leave your companionship."

Her hand dropped immediately. It was a low blow, he knew, but he had to do something to keep his body from responding to her touch.

"Alright," she said, her voice more angry and less hurt than he thought it'd sound. "Lean back."

"No."

"If you want to get out of this bloody room, Snape, you _will_ lean back."

He exhaled sharply and pushed his back against the plush of the sofa. She grabbed his shoulders and leapt over him, until she straddled his lap. Snape was, for the first time in recent or distant memory, flustered. He looked up at her gaze, which he found to be heated. Not disgusted, as she should've been. She looked like she _wanted_ this.

Stop being pathetic, he told himself. He'd barely finished the thought when she grabbed his face and kissed him.

x

She sucked on his lower lip first. It was a bit aggressive for a first kissing move, but he refused to open his mouth, and she was not going to get the chance to snog Severus Snape again, so she was going all out.

Finally, finally he opened his mouth a few millimeters and she slipped the tip of her tongue inside. His was right there, and there was the barest of touches, but it was enough to elicit a moan from her. Enough for his hands to immediately wrap around her hips.

She stifled the urge to grind into him and instead tilted her head, opening her mouth deeper. He did the same.

Gods, Snape can kiss. She giggled at this thought and he snapped his head back, his cheeks pink, his eyes, once again, furious. "What's so funny, Ms. Granger?"

She shook her head, her eyes wide. "Nothing. I was- I was just thinking you're really good at this and-"

He pushed her off of him and stood, his hands clutching the tiny parchment she'd stupidly left in her pocket.

"Professor," she began, but he silenced her with a glare.

x

Now he would get to the bottom of this madness. He knew those bloody Gryffindors were up to no good, ever since George bloody Weasley insinuated something might go on between him and Granger tonight.

Plus, this may keep her from noticing the giant erection trying to drill its way out of his trousers.

He opened the parchment with his fingertips and read it.

 _Oh, lucky you- you get to come on to someone in this very room! It needs to be the person you've wanted the_ _longest_ _. Snogging required. Enjoy!_

Snape read it again. And again. Finally, he blinked and looked at her. She carried an expression of horror on her face as she chewed mercilessly on her bottom lip.

"Explain, Ms. Granger."

She gulped. "I've- I've wanted you for a while now. I know it's stupid, okay? I never meant for you to know."

"What does Mr. Weasley have to do with this?"

She blinked. "What? Oh, you mean George. Well, I told him about my, ah, crush on you. He was trying to help me out with it. Or he thought. The champagne, rigging the game so I'd get that card. I know it's stupid, stupid. All of it."

Few things shocked Snape, but this was beyond anything he'd ever even think of. Hermione Granger wanted him. Certainly, many a lady had asked him out ever since that bloody Dark Prince article, but they all had balloons for brains. Granger, on the other hand… Merlin. A beautiful, brilliant witch wanted _him_. He quickly calculated her age. Miss Granger was well into her twenties. She was a woman now, one no doubt many wizards had attempted to court, and yet she wanted him.

Snape walked to the door and found it unlocked. He, ever the Slytherin, feigned its bond to the wall and wandlessly re-locked it. "Ms. Granger," he said, turning to her. "It appears we haven't yet met the requirements for the charm."

"I'm sorry," she said, wincing. "I thought- it really ought to've worked-"

"I'm afraid you'll have to take off your knickers."

x

Hermione gaped at him. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Ms. Granger." He held what appeared to be a half-smile and a half-smirk on his face.

Hermione licked her lips. Was this really happening? Fuck, if she took off her knickers, then he'd see how turned on she was. But wasn't that the whole point?

This is Snape, she reminded herself. The man you've wanted since you were seventeen. The man you've wanted for nearly eight bloody years and he's asking- no, _telling_ \- you to take off your knickers and you're just staring at him like he's just grown wings and scales and flown away.

She blinked, gathering herself. Finally, she said, "No. You take them off."

"Very well." He was upon her faster than she could blink, dropping to his knees, reaching up her dress. Those lovely, long, large hands ran up her thighs and pulled down her bloody _sopping_ knickers and tossed them to the side.

He left his fingertips at her inner thigh, grazing just so as he looked up at her. "Would you like me to lick you, Ms. Granger?"

She gasped. He may as well already be licking her for the reaction her body was giving. "Please," she found herself saying.

He slipped her skirt up, pushing her legs as far wide as they would go, and put his mouth on her.

"Oh, Merlin," she moaned, throwing her head back.

He'd wrapped his hot lips around her clit, licking relentlessly. He pressed his tongue hard on her, but somehow it wasn't too much. Somehow, it wasn't enough.

She could hardly recognize the pitch her voice had taken as she yelped and writhed under him. He sucked on her and she immediately felt the oncoming orgasm. He withdrew his mouth at that moment and she nearly screamed in frustration.

"I'd like it if you came while I was inside you." His voice was low and deep and oh gods, _everything_ and she gazed into the black of his eyes and nodded.

He pulled his wand out and stripped them of their clothing, gazing at her form for a long while. She, too, took him in- in the massive size of his cock, bobbing in its hardness, and whimpered when he reached for her breasts, kneading. "Oh gods," she whispered. She wanted to return the favor, to make him moan and lose control as he so easily did to her, but she found she could do little else than tremble and groan under his hands.

He leaned over her, taking a nipple into his mouth the very moment he thrust his cock inside her.

"Gods," she yelled as he groaned, his voice vibrating right on her chest. He licked her nipple just as he'd done to her clit, pumping into her slowly. The combination of sensations- his mouth on her breast, his length stretching her completely- caused the return of the orgasmic built, causing even her fingers to shake.

X

Merlin, being inside Hermione Granger wasn't even a thought he'd ever allowed himself to entertain, but the fact was, now that he was fucking her, he wondered how he'd think of anything else again. She was so bloody tight and wet, it's a wonder how he'd managed to last as long as he had. Slower, he told himself.

But then her eyes rolled back and she arched her back. "Professor," she whispered. "I'm gonna… oh, oh… _fuck_."

Hearing her say _fuck_ had given him quite the hard-on the first time, but now, with him dangerously close as it was, it only pushed him further to the edge. As her cunt spasmed around his cock, as she convulsed under the weight of him, as he reminded himself that _he_ was doing _that_ to her, and, moreover, she _wanted_ it, well. He was a man, after all, and he came unapologetically, slamming into her slow and hard, drawing out the orgasm as long as he could, groaning into her neck.

He remained inside of her for a few moments, relishing the vanilla sugar smell of her neck. "Was that… to your liking?" he finally asked.

"Oh, gods, yes," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his chin. He lowered his head and kissed the freckles between her breasts. There were seven.

He smiled and stood, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on. She watched him lazily, stretching out on the sofa. "Professor?"

"Yes, Ms. Granger?" He turned to her, admiring the lovely curve of her hip.

"I'd like to do that again."

It was more than he could hope for, but he kept his gaze impassive. "When?"

She smiled, standing. "I was wondering if you'd like to come back to my place. This time, though," she said, standing, grabbing her knickers. "I'd like to lick you first."

"That sounds agreeable," he said, helping her into her dress.

"Wait," she said, grabbing his wrist, glancing at his watch. She pushed up to her toes and snogged him, hard and long. "Happy New Year, Severus."

His voice was low in her ear. "Happy New Year, Hermione." He then held out his arm and escorted her out of the room with no door-resistance at all.

* * *

 _Special thanks to authors MsWhich and DesertC, whose amazing characterizations of Snape inspired this. Read their super hot fics for more Snamione (Sevmione?) goodness!_


	4. Consummation

_Wow, you all went nuts over the last Sevmione story! Here's another for those who requested it. It's got a bit more detailed smut than "Snape's New Year Kiss." Enjoy!_

* * *

Consummation: Severus/Hermione

It was a marriage of convenience.

Hermione'd nearly found herself hysterical after discovering her Ministry-forced match—Ronald Weasley. The very Weasley who'd she been pining after for most of her adolescence, the very one, who, in fact, had cheated on her with no less than sixteen witches—that she knew of!— leading to their volatile break-up a year and a half before. She'd been planning the quickest way to leave the country when she'd happened upon Severus Snape. Or, rather, he'd happened upon her.

She sat in her green recliner. Well, it was his, really, introduced to her home when they moved in together. She clutched the Ministry letter in both hands. She trembled, opening and reading those two lines over and over again.

 _It has come to our attention that nearly eighty percent of the marriages have been fraudulent in that consummation hasn't occurred. We're now requiring consummation to occur in each marriage before the end of the month, and at least twice a month after that for the duration of the matrimony._

Hermione sighed, burying her face in her hands, letting the letter flutter to the ground.

It was _supposed_ to be a marriage of convenience.

x

Severus Snape fumed after he read the letter Ms. Granger— no, he reminded himself, _Hermione_ , his _wife_ — handed him when he returned from his trip to gather thestral hair from Hogwarts. It was a necessary ingredient in his current research, one difficult to come by, but Minerva had allowed him access to the school's harras. He was in a rather fine mood after that— well, as fine as Severus Snape allowed his mood to elevate to. Until he caught sight of Hermione, clearly devastated about the idea of bedding him. And why wouldn't she? They agreed to an arrangement of convenience. They didn't even share a bedroom for Salazar's sake.

"We can't get around it," Hermione said. He stared blankly at her, keeping his entire body still. He noticed her eyes were red and his jaw hardened further.

"I talked to the Minister directly. Marched over there after lunch. But he reminded me of the favor he gave us… allowing me to not marry Ron, nor you with Umbridge." She took in a shaky breath. "They're tracking each couple with a modified trace. Such a _fucking_ invasion of privacy." She sat back against the green recliner, the one she'd immediately made hers when he moved his belongings in. "Immediate Azkaban time for those who refuse to comply."

Severus gave a long sigh, glancing out the window. The temperature had dropped enough so that a light snow fell. He should've been enjoying his nightcap of firewhisky, not listening to this particular, unpleasant pitch of Hermione Granger's voice.

She cleared her throat and he directed his eyes upon her once more, taking in her posture. She wore a dress, one of his favorites. It might seem absurd that he'd developed favorite articles of clothing in only two months of marriage, but this one was rather becoming, which was a lot more than he could say about the rest of her wardrobe. There were quite a lot of features of the dress he'd admired: how it tied at her slim waist, the glimpse of her smooth calves and ankles, how the neck scooped down considerably, revealing a generous amount of décolletage. He'd positively ogled her the first time she stepped out of her room in it. She'd been adorning it fairly regularly since.

"The end of the month is this Thursday," she said.

"I'm aware. I do own a calendar, Granger." It just slipped, calling her by her surname, and he pretended not to notice her wince.

"I was thinking, perhaps, we could arrange for our, ah, consummation this Wednesday."

He stiffened even more, as though that were possible. "Very well." He'd turned to his quarters when she called him, her voice so low he scarcely heard.

"Is there anything you'd like me to wear?" she asked, her eyes directly on his. "Lace or favorite colors?" She glanced at his outfit. "Black, maybe?"

He briefly imagined her in black lace and nearly stopped breathing, which enraged him far more than it should have. "Just wear whatever will make the process go as quick as possible," he barked, so loud she jumped back, her eyes widening. "I've got quite a lot planned in the laboratory that evening and will need to get to it as soon as we achieve _consummation_." He spat the last word out and marched away, unwilling to see the expression he'd left on her face.

x

I can do this, Hermione told herself. I can go in there and fuck my husband. Who happens to be Professor Snape. Who also happens to be disgusted with the idea of fucking _you_.

She groaned, staring at her appearance. She knew Snape could've done a lot better than her, if the Ministry had only given them the bloody choice. Sure, he was a cranky bastard, but he was brilliant and undeniably sexy. She remembered the first time she'd seen him without his shirt on as she stumbled into the kitchen for a drink of water one night. She hadn't expected him to be so _firm_ everywhere. It unsettled her enough that she grabbed her vibrator the second she returned to her room.

She'd decided on black lace. She had noticed the way his eyes hooded ever so slightly at the suggestion, and she figured if that turned him on, it would get things over with as quick as he needed. Her choice in lingerie wasn't fancy— a simple, sheer baby doll top and lace boyshorts. She'd keep the top on during, putting something of a barrier between them. Maybe it would help him visualize someone he preferred.

She tied on a silk robe and tiptoed to his bedroom, giving the door a gentle knock. She opened it after a moment.

He was reading in bed, wearing a black t-shirt and black pyjamas. Her breath caught at his bare arms— where the hell had he gotten so tan? —and meekly shut the door behind her. "Are you ready?" she asked.

He didn't even look up from his book. She closed her eyes for a few moments, then untied her robe, letting it drop to the floor. As fast as possible, she reminded herself.

When she reopened them, she was treated to a most unusual sight: Severus Snape, jaw slightly opened, eyes hooded with lust. He openly gawked at her chest, then down her legs, then up and down and down and up until, she noticed happily, a tent appeared in his lounge bottoms.

Promising, she thought, walking to the bed with a tight smile.

x

Severus felt lightheaded. His mouth was dry. He hadn't expected her to go for the black lace, but she had, and fucking Salazar, it was better than he even imagined. He couldn't keep his eyes off her tits, high and round and so very visible through that flimsy material. Then there were her legs, long and taut, climbing onto the bed and… oh bloody hell, over _him_.

"I was thinking we'd start with a kiss," she said. She bit her lip and wouldn't look directly at him, settling just below his erection. He snapped his jaw shut when he realized that as much as he wanted this, she didn't, and who could blame her? He was the hooked nose dungeon vampire, and she, Merlin, was a fucking _goddess_ and did she say she wanted to _kiss_ him?

"Just a kiss," she said, her eyes glancing warily over his. "It won't be long, I promise. I just need something to get me…" She coughed. "Ready. And I'll stay on top, okay? You won't have to do a thing." She gave him a reassuring smile, which he narrowed his eyes at, then gave a curt nod. He wasn't even sure he had the capacity to speak at that point, so he didn't bother trying.

She bent and gently pressed her lips to his.

x

He shoved his tongue into her mouth immediately. It was all she needed, really— her knickers drenched the second his tongue touched hers— but she was a greedy woman in this scenario. Especially with _him_ in this scenario. She moaned and ran her hands in his hair, down his hard chest, over the lines of his abs as she pressed her mouth to his harder.

She broke the kiss abruptly, feeling a little bit like she was going mad. "Take off your shirt," she said. "Please."

He wriggled out of it in about two seconds, and she lowered her head to run her tongue over his nipple. He groaned and ground his cock into her knickers, which were now probably dripping on him.

Right, she reminded herself, stopping her body, willing her head away from his chest. All I'm doing is getting wet. He's very busy. She took a few breaths to calm herself, then looked at him. His fingertips were on her thighs, tingling under his touch. He breathed heavily, but he, too, had stopped his ministrations, his black eyes upon her, looking as though he wanted to say something. But he didn't, and eventually, she sighed.

"I know you wanted this to be as fast as possible," she said, lifting her legs to pull her knickers off. His eyes immediately went to her crotch, which she didn't even bother shaving. What would be the point? "So don't worry about… prolonging anything. Just come whenever you feel like." She lowered his bottoms and pulled his cock out. She noted smugly that he was more than a little wet with pre-come himself, and she promptly slipped him inside.

x

 _Fucking bloody Merlin's motherfucking_ … his brain stopped working the second he felt her slick, hot cunt all around him. "Is this okay?" she asked, her eyes wide.

Had she moaned when he sheathed her? He'd meant to listen for her pleasure, but he couldn't recall, as he momentarily had died.

He wanted her to like this. To like fucking him. More than like, really. But he couldn't tell whether she did or not, and for the first time in years, he cursed his inexperience.

She continued to stare and he realized he hadn't answered her question. "Yes," he said. His voice was hoarse and barely recognizable. "Continue."

She nodded as though he'd given her an instruction in potions class. He berated himself for not thinking of something sexier to say. For not telling her how beautiful she looked, for not— oh _motherfucking pygmy puffs_. She'd lifted herself so that he was nearly fully out, then drove him back in. After about the fifth pump, he already felt like he was losing control.

"Don't," he said. She stopped, staring. "Just give me a moment."

She nodded, sitting back, him still inside her. He glanced at her chest, where her nipples had hardened against the lace of her top. It did him no favors at the moment, and, moreover, why was that blasted thing still on?

She looked concerned, her eyebrows lifted as she waited on him. She shouldn't look like that. She should be screaming his name in fucking pleasured _agony_ , but here he was, making her stop so he wouldn't come in five minutes like a school boy.

"You can close your eyes if you like," she said finally. He blinked. "I won't be offended, I promise. If you need to think of someone else to, um. Finish."

Is that what she thought? Was she mad?

Maybe, he considered, his mouth drawing in a firm line, that's what she'd planned on doing so _she_ could withstand _him_. He knew her sudden arousal was too good to be true.

He grunted and lifted his hips. Perhaps quick is best, he mused.

x

She gasped after he pumped up and waited for her to get the hint. She got it alright, returning to riding him. She had no idea what she'd said to piss him off, but he wasn't as uninhibited as before. She preferred him to groan and squirm under her, not this, watching intently, _furiously_ as she lifted and dropped her pelvis. She felt like she was stirring a potion under his relentless scrutiny.

Whatever, she thought. If he was going to lie there like a lump, she may as well enjoy this. So she gathered her feet up under her into a deep squat, and began to hammer him. Or, rather, have him hammer her.

The deep, fast thrusting did it for her. She opened her mouth and lifted her head, feeling her hair brush against the small of her back. She knew she wasn't going to come, but some pleasure was better than nothing.

x

It appeared Ms. Granger was intent on making him reach completion as _fast_ as possible. Worse, it was working. Even worse than that, _fast_ was what he'd requested to begin with. He wished he had a time turner so he could slap himself the moment those words left his mouth.

He was close. So bloody close. It wasn't much the new position that did it, though it certainly didn't help matters. It was her. Her mouth opened, the moans escaping those plump, pink lips, the bounce of her tits.

He briefly wondered who she might be imagining, but at that moment, he felt his bollocks constrict. His body, seemingly without his permission, thrusted up into her in time to her movements.

She shrieked and gasped. "Severus," she murmured, her eyes closed. She leaned back and he felt himself slide in deeper.

He came with an unmannerly growl, grabbing a breast as he pumped up as hard as he could.

x

She leaned her body back upright, then put her hands on his chest. He still had his hand on her breast— oh god, that move of his almost pushed her over the edge— but sadly, he dropped it. She finally let herself glance at him.

He looked delicious, his hair disheveled, his lips swollen, his gaze lazy. He smiled and it nearly melted her.

She felt his cock shrink inside. Right, she told herself. This is done. Until next month. She pulled away from him. "I know you have a lot to do," she said, grabbing her knickers. "I won't keep you." She made to slide off the bed, but he grabbed her arm.

"You didn't…"

She paused, furrowing her brow. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "That. Yeah, that, ah. Don't worry about it, okay? It usually takes a great deal of foreplay. Like, sometimes up to an hour. You don't have time for that and anyway, I can take care of myself." Fuck, did she just admit to masturbation? She really needed to stop talking.

Wriggling out of his hand, she pulled up her knickers as fast as she could. "I know you don't have a moment to spare so it's best if we never worried about that, yeah?" She spun and found her robe, throwing it on. "Besides, it's not a requirement for consummation. It really ought to be, but our government is hardly progressive." Shut _up_ , Hermione, she told herself.

Lifting her head, she found him giving her a look of wonder. She lifted her hand robotically. "Good luck with your research tonight. Thanks for the, ah, sex." Cheeks burning, she _flew_ out of his room.

x

She'd moaned his name while her eyes were closed. His name. He hadn't misheard. He certainly would've remembered if she'd uttered someone else's. No, this wasn't a product of wishful projecting. She was thinking of _him_.

Founders, what on earth was the matter with him? He'd had a willing witch in his bed, dressed in lingerie for him, moaning over him, _riding_ him and how did he repay her? By making her think he scarcely had a second to deal with the burden of fucking her. No wonder she just ran out.

He stood, pulling his pyjamas up. He had to amend this.

He'd never entered her room before, but after knocking, he pushed the door open. White linen sheets covered her bed. In one corner, she'd arranged a reading area, with a wheat-colored chaise longue and a side table piled with books. Books adorned her night table, too, and almost covered her dresser in various stacks. He nearly smiled, pleased at the sight of her academic devotion. He truly couldn't have done any better than convincing Hermione Granger to marry him.

"Did I forget something?" she asked. Finally, he drew his eyes to her. She was still dressed in that bloody thin robe, though he noticed the knickers and lace top were tossed on the floor. Perhaps she was about to get in the bath. If so, his timing was magnificent.

But where to start? He sighed. Perhaps, for being such a bloody wanker, he ought to begin with the truth.

"I've only been with two women before," he said. She furrowed her brow as he continued. "The last was nearly twenty years ago. It's been a long, long while and those experiences were… humiliating." He paused, taking a few steps toward her. "I've no idea how to please a woman. Or so I've been told." He cleared his throat, feeling the prickle of heat on his cheeks. Fuck, he hated this, but it had to be asked. "Perhaps you could teach me?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You want _me_ … to teach _you_?"

He bit his tongue from forming a scathing remark on her lack of comprehension. "Yes."

She nodded her head immediately. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

x

Severus Snape— her _husband_ — was in her bed, waiting for her to tell him how, exactly, to get her off. She pushed away the impulse to pinch herself and took a deep breath.

"What would you like to do to me?" she asked, sitting next to him in the bed.

"Typically, the instructor is the one who gives commands." His tone was a bit on the dry side, but she ignored it.

"Of course. But sometimes, what turns me on the most is the… activity that the partner has been wanting to do. The thing he'd enjoy doing. My last partner, for instance, didn't have a lot of patience for… some… things… and anyway, if he doesn't like it, the other partner can usually tell, and it sort of stalls… release." Her eyes had widened and a blush returned to her cheeks. "Not, of course, to assume you've been _wanting_ to do anything with—"

"Cunnilingus."

She gasped lightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Hermione." He held a smirk on his face. "Unless you find that unpalatable?"

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "That's— okay. That sounds good."

x

It sounded better than good. It sounded bloody brilliant, if she were being perfectly honest. She positioned herself on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she opened her robe.

He climbed over her instantly. Though, instead of starting where she thought he would— he did say cunnilingus, after all— he lowered his mouth to her neck, first. Gentle, soft, the barest of kisses. He ran his lips all the way down to her breasts, where he hovered. She whimpered upon feeling his hot breath on her left nipple.

"May I?" he said. She nodded, arching her back the moment his tongue lapped at her nipple. After a few gentle licks, he sucked the pebble in, moving his head to stretch it this and that way. She slid the fingers of her right hand under her hip as she wanted more than anything to rub herself in tune to his tongue. That's how hard she _throbbed_.

She moaned as he sucked her other breast, feeling the line of hair under his navel brush against her side as he bent lower, taking more of her in.

"Jesus Christ," she groaned. "Whoever told you that you couldn't please a wom— oh, gods, _there_." Hermione inhaled. "She was a bloody _lunatic_."

Severus smiled with a mouthful of nipple, causing her back to arch once more.

"Please," she said.

He looked up. "Please what, Ms. Granger?"

She shivered, not minding the teacherly way he addressed her at all. "Please eat me out, Professor." His eyes hooded immediately, and she knew he was into the bit of roleplay, as well. He lowered himself to her cunt and gave a light swipe to her clit.

"Gods," she said, gasping. He licked her again, dropping to his forearms, moving his wet, warm, and _fucking incredible_ tongue over her in an intoxicating, circular motion.

x

Hermione Granger tasted like dry wine and salted caramel. Her cunt was utterly delectable, and he tilted his head a touch, dragging more of his tongue over her, trying to get more of her in. She jerked her hips up against him, grinding. He looked up at her heaving breasts and opened mouth and felt his hard-as-a-bloody-rock cock give a twitch.

He took her clit into his mouth as he'd done to her nipples. She nearly flew off the bed. "I'm close," she screeched, grabbing the sheets. "Put your fingers in me, please, Severus."

Again, with his name. Again, with his cock twitch. He slipped two fingers in— she did use the plural— and stoked in a few different directions, until he found a spot that made her yell, "There, there! Don't you _fucking_ stop!"

He almost laughed. As though he would. With her clit still firmly between his lips, he kept curling his fingers in her, until she spasmed, choking his name in a breathless, almost unintelligible scream.

x

She couldn't remember the last time she'd come so hard. If she'd _ever_ come so hard. She gazed down at him as he pushed up to his knees, his face almost unreadable, except for the hint of a pleased smirk.

Lowering her eyes to his massive erection, she smiled. "You want me."

"I want no one else." His response was firm and her mouth dropped.

"Fuck me, Severus," she said. "Once more."

He ascended over her, sliding inside her fast and hard, making her moan into his mouth as he covered hers with a kiss. "I'll have you know, my wife," he said, thrusting, "that I plan on having you infinitely more times than once."

She laughed. "I rather like the sound of that, dear husband."

Her laughter quickly turned to moans as he made good on his word.

* * *

 _Do let me know if you have any requests for pairs. I'm up for just about anything (except for maybe matching anyone with the Sorting Hat haha)._


	5. Dusk

_For girlX901 and CrazySlytherin, who requested this pair._

Dusk: Kingsley/Hermione

Kingsley Shacklebolt had dueled some of the darkest wizards in his time. He'd worked as a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix during the second War. He'd fought in numerous battles, risked his life countless times, and once dove-flew off of Mount Kirkjufell in Iceland.

In all those ventures, however, Kingsley could not remember ever being as frightened as the day he decided to ask out Hermione Granger.

In retrospect, he should've known it would've ended up a disaster. He'd forgotten his wand and was thereby late to his meeting with her. He'd tripped after their greeting of a friendly hug (he blamed it on her new perfume, which smelled exactly like lemon meringue pie), and, upon settling at his desk, realized he'd lost the paperwork she was there for in the first place.

"Don't worry about it, Kingsley," she'd said, smiling. "Just owl it over whenever you find it."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he'd said for the fourteenth time. "This is completely unacceptable. I honestly don't know—"

"Hey," she'd said softly, placing a hand on his forearm. His eyes had dropped to her hand, then back up to her lovely face. "It's fine. They're not due to the department for another three weeks. You know me, how I like to get things done early." She'd smiled again and lifted her hand to tuck a curl behind her ear.

"Are you doing anything this weekend?" he'd blurted. His voice was gruff and unpleasant, not the sound he was going for. Luckily, she hadn't seemed startled.

"Not really. I mean, I am going to call my mum. She likes to talk for at least two hours so it becomes an event in and of itself."

Kingsley cleared his throat. "Yes. I was thinking, perhaps, about the new pub that opened on Wayflower Avenue…"

At that blasted moment, his assistant, Georgina, had walked by the open door of his office. "Oh, are you two talking about The Drunken Oak? I heard it's phenomenal."

"Is it?" Hermione'd asked, turning to her with a smile.

"Yes, the burgers are outstanding. That's what Phillip told me last week, isn't that right, Phillip?"

Auror Phillip Grey appeared at his door, joined by his partner, Katie Bell. "Their pepperjack-stuffed angus is, quite possibly, the best thing I've ever eaten."

"I liked their fish and chips," Katie supplied. "They use cedar-smoked paprika, which, gods, really makes the breading stand out. Why, what's up? Are we planning an outing?"

"This weekend," Hermione'd said. "Right, Kingsley?"

He'd given her a long look, then nodded. "Yes. I was hoping to see what all the, uh, fuss was about."

"How's Saturday?" Katie'd asked. "I bet Harry and Neville would like to come. Hey, Hermione, would you invite George?"

Hermione'd laughed. "Still haven't asked him out yourself, Kate?"

"Well, I'd rather he get the bloody hint and ask me first!"

After a few minutes, a few more people had crowded his office, discussing times to meet and dishes they were looking forward to trying. He'd sat back in his chair and had refrained from putting his head in his hands. As Minister, he was, first and foremost, everyone's _supervisor_ and made a point _not_ to fraternize with his employees outside the office. But he'd looked at Hermione's gorgeous smile once more and agreed to meet them all there at seven o'clock sharp Saturday night.

He had arrived at the restaurant nearly a half hour early to ensure there'd be a table large enough for them. They'd all shown up within forty minutes. Everyone except for Hermione.

After about fifteen minutes of trying not to watch George Weasley attempt to eat Katie's face, he'd casually asked about Hermione's whereabouts. "Oh, right," Ron had said through a mouthful of pepperjack-stuffed angus. "'Mione got a migraine. She wanted me to tell you sorry, and that she might be out Monday if it's a bad one."

Kingsley was certain Hermione knew he'd originally planned on asking her— and only her— on a real, bonafide date and that she'd finangled her way out of it. Mortified, he'd excused himself as soon as he paid for his meal. He'd consoled himself with the fact that, were it a date, he'd never eaten the smokehouse bacon burger with firewhisky-caramelized onions, which was, quite honestly, worth breaking his no-fraternizing rule over.

That night, over a mug of Earl Grey, he'd decided to stop pursuing Hermione. Not that what he'd been doing—smelling her hair during hugs, scheduling meetings with her over the most minute details of their collaborations, and _almost_ asking her out _once_ — could be considered an actual pursuit. But it was clear to him that she wasn't interested. Or else the whole business just wasn't aligned with the universe's will.

So Kingsley began to avoid Hermione Granger.

x

Hermione paced in her office. It was after six on a Friday evening and nearly everyone had left for the weekend. Everyone except for Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.

If she drew the curtains to the little window on her office door, she could see the light coming from the window through his. Moreover, she'd put up an alert spell of her own devising. If Kingsley had left his office for the day, her wand would give a little buzz.

She had no idea what she did to anger him, but damn it, today she was going to find out.

x

Why hadn't she left yet?

Kingsley released the curtain on his door window. Hermione was still in. And after the day he'd had, he wasn't in the mood to see her pretty smile or long curls or her bloody round arse in that tight skirt she'd worn today. He'd nearly decapitated himself when she walked by him earlier. He rubbed his neck at the memory.

No, the last thing he needed before the weekend began was an encounter with the witch he'd fallen for but would never have the balls to proposition.

He reached for the curtain once more, but before his fingers touched the fabric, a knock sounded at the door. He levitated the briefcase in his hand onto the seat of one of his guest chairs, waited a beat, then opened it.

x

Hermione gaped for a moment, gathering her bearings. "Hey," she finally said.

Kingsley furrowed his brow. "Is there anything I can help you with, Hermione?"

Hermione looked dumbfounded for a moment, then pointed her finger right at his face. " _That_. That bloody _distant_ formality. _That_ right there is what you can help me with."

Kingsley tilted his head. "I beg your…"

"You don't hug me anymore. Our offices share the same floor and you'll only communicate with me by bloody owl. I'm sorry, Kingsley, for whatever I've done, but if you'd just _tell_ me instead of..." Tears stung at her eyes, but she willed them back down.

Kingsley stared at her for a moment, then let out a long sigh. "Why don't you come in?"

x

Kingsley cleared his throat, sitting at his desk. "One of our Aurors discovered a Dark Arts plot against the Muggle Prime Minister."

"Shite," Hermione said, tentatively sitting in one of his guest chairs. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh, yes. For the time being, all is well." He cracked his knuckles. "Given my previous position in protecting the Prime Minister, it made most sense for me to resume those duties."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "But— but you're _our_ Minister. That's entirely too much for you—"

Kingsley held up a hand. "Just at first. Simply because I already know the schedule, the people, the rhythm. The Minister trusts me, so it simply makes the initial process of infiltration easier. In about a week, Auror Longbottom will take up those duties." He gave a curt nod. "I apologize for behaving distantly. I've just been busy, Hermione."

x

"Oh," Hermione said, burying her face in her hands. "Gods, Kingsley, I'm an idiot for thinking it had anything to do with me. Gods, what a narcissist, right?" She glanced up to see a peculiar look on his face, one he immediately shook off.

She felt even more awkward then, and she turned her gaze to around his office, gasping when she spotted an iridescent black, ornately carved bottle on his side table. "Is that Dusk?" she asked.

Kingsley chuckled. He stood, grabbed the bottle, and handed it to her. "A gift from the Bulgarian Minister. It's just returned from the Potions Department, so it's confirmed to be clean." He levitated two glasses from a drawer. "Care for a taste?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she fingered the bottle. "Drinking on the job, Mr. Minister?"

Kingsley checked his watch. "As of an hour and a half ago, I'm no longer on the job, Ms. Granger." He smiled. "And, last I checked, neither are you."

Hermione grinned, grabbing the glass he'd poured her. "Mmm, gods," she said after sipping. "It's like caramel coffee mixed with truffles and cream and a bit of smoke." She took another long sip. "Last time I was in a spirits store, I saw bottles of Dusk being sold for _five hundred galleons_ a piece." She lifted the corners of her mouth. "The Bulgarian Prime Minister must really like you."

Kingsley'd already drained his drink. He hadn't planned on it, but the moment that moan escaped her lips, he found himself tilting the glass at an impossible angle. "He likes that we've lifted some of our trade regulations with his country."

"Ah, yes, I heard about that." Hermione unbuttoned her jacket and pulled it off, draping it on the chair back. Underneath, she wore a lace-trimmed camisole. Blue, with a hint of cleavage just above the—

"Kingsley?" He blinked as a warm blush filled his cheeks. He'd been too busy leering to even listen to what she'd said.

"Come again?" he asked, pouring them another glass.

x

Hermione Granger wasn't what anyone would call stupid, but when it came to matters of romantic attraction, she would relent to 'clueless,' perhaps. It wouldn't be untrue.

But she wasn't mistaken this time; she knew it. Kingsley Shacklebolt was just staring at her breasts! As though they were bare! Maybe he was imagining them bare, she thought. She blushed when gooseflesh appeared on her arms, crawling all the way up her chest until her nipples painfully bulged out of her top.

She grabbed the glass he handed her and positively threw it back before responding to his query. Wiping her mouth in a most unladylike manner, she said, "I was wondering if you'd enjoyed your time with the Aurors all those weeks back, at that pub."

He nodded and laughed. "Oh, you know them. Very entertaining." He grimaced. "Though I could've done without the tongue wrestling display from George and Katie."

"Oh, I know!" Hermione said. "Christ, I went to visit George at the shop the other day, and you know how I found them? Behind the bloody register. She was on _top_ of him." Hermione shuddered. "Thank gods their clothes were still on."

Kingsley grimaced. "I'm glad they're keeping it there, though, rather than having one another here at the Ministry."

Hermione chuckled. She knew of at least two instances where Katie and George had 'had one another here at the Ministry,' but she certainly wouldn't be the one to snitch. "Indeed." She leaned back against the chair, smiling lazily at him. "I love Dusk."

"I can see that." Kingsley smiled so big, both his dimples flashed.

Hermione felt a warmth in her belly, and she could tell it wasn't entirely due to the alcohol. "Are you seeing anyone?" she asked suddenly.

His face revealed momentary shock. "I— well, uh—"

"Gods, Kingsley," she said, feeling her face redden. "It's none of my business, I know—"

He shook his head. "It's fine, Hermione." He inhaled. "Well, the short answer is 'no'. I haven't really met anyone—" His eyes darted to hers. "Well, that's a lie. I have met a brilliant witch, actually. But I don't think she'd ever find me interesting in, well. In that way."

x

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?" she asked. Before he could respond, she shook her head violently. "You are literally everyone's dream man."

He laughed, but she waved her fingers. "I'm serious, Kingsley. You've no idea, do you? More than half the women in the office have admitted to touching thems—" She coughed, backtracking. "I mean, you're bloody handsome, like a movie star. And you're tall and clever and, gods, your hands." Her cheeks were, once again, stained in that lovely peach. "Anyway, whoever that witch is, she's mental if she's not interested in you. In _that_ way."

"You're not mental, Hermione." It just slipped out, honestly. He blamed the drink. But the meaning behind what he'd uttered strummed a deep note between them. They both froze, as though with any movement, that note would shatter, ruining everything.

Hermione reacted first. "You mean she's... _me_?" She stood and walked slowly around his desk, facing him on his side. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

She reached out, touching his forearm. He glanced down at her hand— smooth skin, a gold garnet ring on her index finger with short, periwinkle-lacquered nails. "Is that why you won't hug me?"

He finally gathered the nerve to look up at her face, at her gorgeous eyes with their long lashes, her eyebrows lifted in concern. His gaze lowered to her heaving chest. He held an arm out— what for, he wasn't certain. To offer a hug, perhaps?

Instead of doing anything responsible and proprietous and bloody _decent_ , like a hug, he reached for her chest instead, thumb brushing an erect nipple through her shirt. She gasped, and before he could apologize and light himself on fire and die… she _leapt_ on him.

x

Now, both of those wonderfully large and dark hands were on her chest as Hermione stared at him, his legs firmly between her knees, his breath wild.

She finally bent her head to his and kissed the Minister of Magic.

He responded to her with his tongue, and with those beautiful _hands_ , kneading her breasts, plucking her nipples. She moaned, loudly, when his erection brushed her bottom. "Hold on," she said, pulling back.

He looked bewildered. "Hermione, I'm so sorr—"

"Shh," she said, putting her finger to his lips. "I want to try something."

x

Before he could stop her, she'd settled on the floor between his legs and pulled his cock out of his slacks. "Merlin," he whispered when she ran her fingers on him. She smiled, lowered her head and flicked her tongue over his tip. "Almighty Godric," he groaned. She let her tongue linger with the next lick, smiling again when his breath hitched as he fisted the arms of the chair. Then she took him in her mouth. Thoroughly.

He couldn't remove his eyes from her, wondering if, perhaps, that Dusk was spiked with something dangerous after all. Why else would Hermione Granger's hot, silky mouth be wrapped around his dick?

She took a deep breath and let his tip slide into her throat. His hips jerked, disobeying all of his internal commands. She nodded encouragingly, though, putting her hands on his sides, making a lifting motion. Merlin's beard, he thought. She wants me to fuck her mouth.

His cock seemed to think it a fine idea, along with his pelvis, and he found himself settling into a comfortable rhythm of pumping. He threw his head back and grunted as she narrowed her cheeks and swirled her tongue. She glided her hand over the bottom of his shaft smoothly, and he was just about to congratulate himself on lasting far longer than he should have when he glanced down and almost came on the spot.

Her skirt had been pushed up, revealing the her smooth thighs, and positioned between her legs, _in her knickers_ , was her other hand. She moaned, her eyes rolling up, and he put his hands on her face, his thumbs grazing her cheeks. She settled her gaze on him.

"This is incredible," he said. "But I want _you_."

She released his cock and smiled. "Well, what are you waiting for, then, Kingsley?"

x

Hermione had no idea what had gotten into her. 'What are you waiting for, Kingsley.' A line from a one of the horrid romance novels she'd read on occasion for entertainment purposes only. But as Kingsley lifted her to his desk, vanishing her knickers, settling his cock on her cunt, she stopped being able to process the logic of it.

He ran the head of his length over her clit. "Do you like that?" he asked. His voice was impossibly smooth and deep and she tossed her head back, resting on her forearms, only able to moan in response. He continued to stroke her clit with his dick, using his other hand to slide up her top, wandlessly vanishing her bra before grasping her breast.

"Fuck," she whimpered, squirming. He pinched her nipple, rubbing it in tune to her the ministrations on her clit.

"You're going to make me come," she finally said, her voice breaking.

Kingsley chuckled. "That's the idea."

x

Kingsley continued to tease her clit and nipples until he was certain she was just about to break into a thousand pieces. He watched as her breath grew shallower, as her belly and thighs trembled, as her hands held onto the desk so hard, her knuckles whitened. At that moment, he removed his hands and slid himself inside her.

They moaned at the same time, and after a single pump, she came spectacularly, thrashing her back all over his paperwork, dragging her nails along his arms. Before she'd released the arch of her back, he returned to fucking, going as hard as he could. She screamed with each thrust, and, coupled with the rattle of his desk, he wondered briefly if they ought to've made certain they were the only ones left in the office. He couldn't think on it much longer, however. He clenched his abs with his release, feeling his cock drain into her for so long and hard, he thought it might detach with pleasure.

Luckily for them both, his dick had no such plans. He waited until they caught their breaths before gently pushing off of her. After fixing his slacks, he helped her up, smiling at the dazed, almost comatose look in her eyes.

He frowned as thoughts swirled in mind. "I should've— I should've taken you out to dinner first."

"Kingsley," Hermione laughed. "That was the best I've ever had and you're saying it should've been delayed?" She leaned on him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He returned the hug tightly, straightening his back at the mention of 'best I've ever had.'

"Anyway," she said, lifting her head up to look in his eyes. "I heard about this new pub on Wayflower. Amazing burgers."

He gave her a sheepish smile. "You mean The Drunken Oak?"

She snapped her fingers. "That's it. That's the one. You should take me there. Right now. I'm starved."

He nodded, widening his smile to a grin. "I would love that."

She gave him a wicked grin that weakened his knees. "I also need to eat for _energy_. If you haven't heard, I'm taking a handsome Minister home for the weekend. We're going to be _very_ busy." She winked as she walked to his door.

He nearly ran after her, bending her in a deep kiss before leading her out.

* * *

 _Okay, all! We have a Lemon Tree queue:_

 _1\. Mrs. Wilson: SS/HG and/or Albus/Minerva_

 _2\. smithback: Harry/Andromeda and/or Hermione/Salazar_

 _3\. Guest: Tom Riddle, Jr./Harry and/or Sirius/Harry_

 _4\. Me: Dramione (I'm indulging myself based on a prompt I feel I must finish)_

 _Let me know via reviews if you have something you'd like to be added to the queue._

 _Yay! I'm so happy with everyone's responses. I'm so looking forward to fulfilling these writing requests. I've got to warn you, though, I won't be able to pop them out as quickly as I've been on this holiday break. But I'm going to aim for two a month, maybe more, depending on how much I procrastinate on everything else._

 _Thanks, as always, for reading._


	6. Revenge

_For Mrs. Wilson, who requested this duo._

* * *

Revenge: Snape/Hermione

"Fucking arseholes," Hermione yelled as she pushed one of the chairs in her office over. "Dick heads!" Using her wand, she shoved the chair into the bookcase. "Cock muffins!"

She stopped, certain she'd heard a deep growl of a voice. A voice she recognized immediately.

Hands on her hips, she stomped into the great hallway just outside her office, where a portrait of none other than Severus Snape hung. He stood there, glaring at her, his face utterly impassive.

"Got something to say, Professor?"

He shook his head lightly. "I was just remarking on your creative and… _filthy_ language. The disgusting sort I'd deduct fifty points over."

"Oh, Christ." Hermione snorted. "I don't know why I even asked." She walked back into her office and shrunk and packed all her belongings into her undetectably-enlarged purse.

She whizzed past the portrait of Snape where he watched with a smirk on his face. She halted and took several long strides backwards, stopping right in front of him.

"What seems to be the matter, Ms. Granger?" There wasn't an ounce of actual concern in his tone.

"I got sacked, Professor. Didn't you hear? Oh, that's right. You spend ALL YOUR BLOODY TIME ELSEWHERE and only come when I'm around. So when I mention you to ANYONE, they think I'm bloody mad! 'Cause for some ungodly reason you've decided that your company is reserved for TORTURING ME!"

Snape snarled. "I suppose I should thank whomever gave you the boot, Granger. Now I don't have to hear the insufferable monologues you insist on giving with your bloody office door wide open."

Hermione seethed. Where the hell did he get off…

"No," she said, whipping her wand out.

Snape's eyes widened ever so slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Gemino," she muttered, and in her hands, she held a painting of an empty living room— what everyone else but _her_ got the pleasure of seeing when they gazed upon the Professor's portrait.

"You think this is it, do you? That you just get to torture me until I run off? I don't think so, Professor." She pulled his frame containing his stammering face off and shrunk it, shoving it into her bag. In its place, she hung the forged painting.

"Now, Professor," she said, a wicked smile upon her face. "I get revenge."

x

She, of course, had no idea how she'd manage such a thing as revenge. Though apparently all she'd have to do was talk to herself— otherwise known as "perform" an "insufferable monologue"- and that'd be enough.

She sighed. Talking to myself, she thought. It's not like she had anything better to do, anyway. With Harry, Ron and Gin all busy with their young families, she was lucky to see them once a month. Her work had held basically her full attention for seven years. And now it was pulled from under her, leaving her clinging to… this portrait of Snape? She snorted. Maybe she _was_ going mad, after all.

Mad or not, she placed him right next to her portrait of Crookshanks. Snape was long gone by then, probably out pouting, she thought. She knew as soon as he discovered he was on par with her beloved half-Kneazle, he'd have some choice words. Maybe even some _filthy_ and creative _language_.

"How you doing, Crooks," she said. The orange feline purred in response and rubbed his tail against his side of the painting. Hermione felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. "I miss you, too. I wish we could just cuddle like the old days."

Christ, she thought, plopping on the sofa, facing the portraits. I'm so bloody pathetic.

x

"Where have you put me, Ms Granger?" Snape finally made an appearance the next morning, just as Hermione curled up with a cup of coffee on her sofa.

"You're in my home," she answered, not looking up from the _Prophet_. She'd deliberately avoided the headlines— no doubt there was something about Hermione's work troubles— and she focused, instead, on the Classifieds.

"May I remind you, Ms. Granger, this, right here, is _theft_. Certainly the last thing your… reputation... needs is an arrest. Or a stint in Azkaban."

Hermione sighed. "What? Are you going to tell on me?"

Snape drew his mouth in a firm, thin line.

"You _could_ help me find a new job. After all, you're the bloody reason I was fired in the first place."

Snape snorted. "Already delusional in your job-deprived boredom, Ms. Granger?"

" _You're_ the one who put all those ideas in my head. Of what I could and couldn't _achieve_."

"It's certainly not my fault that you interpreted my advice in such a manner that the Minister saw fit to sack you."

"Whatever." Hermione lifted her head up to glare right at him. "Hey," she said, her voice softer. "Your clothes are different."

Snape glanced down at this umber button-down. "Perhaps, Ms. Granger, you should become a private investigator. Your perception know no bounds."

"Oh, shut it. I just thought portraits couldn't change their appearance."

Did Snape look worried? Hermione shook her head. No, he was just as sour-faced as always. "So are you going to turn me in or are you going to help me?"

Snape sighed, looking as though she'd just suggested they eat a dinner of roast pygmy puffs. "What are your options, Ms. Granger?"

x

Hermione threw open the door to her flat. "I got it!" she shrieked. She half-expected him to not be there, but just like with all her job interviews the last four months, he'd waited for her. Just like he said he would.

Snape looked pleased. "I believe a 'thank you,' is in order, Ms. Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "Really? No 'Congratulations,' or 'Well done'? Just, 'Told you so, you stupid witch.'"

Snape stared and raised an eyebrow. Hermione chuckled, tearing her jacket off. "Right. I almost forgot who I was talking to."

"To whom I was speaking, Ms. Granger. Communicate like the educated woman you are."

"Jesus. Don't ruin this, alright?" Hermione leaned back on the sofa and scowled. "Thank you for pushing me toward potioneering." She lifted her head. "Happy?"

"You aren't a stupid witch."

"What?" She straightened her back, her brow furrowed.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Don't make me repeat it, Ms. Granger."

"Oh," she said, biting her lip. "Okay. Thanks." She watched as his eyes lowered to her chest. She dropped her gaze immediately and gasped when she saw that, in the process of tearing her jacket off, she'd pulled her cardigan down so low, half of one of her lace bra cups was showing.

"Jesus," she whispered, tugging at the cardigan. When she looked back up at him, his gaze was purposefully off to the side, staring at where Crookshanks would be, were he not off chasing butterflies.

When Hermione noticed the color in Snape's normally pale cheeks— well, her mouth dropped open. Snape? Bashful? Those two words didn't quite coexist in her mind.

"You have that champagne Potter gave you for Christmas." His eyes were still firmly not on her. Or her chest.

Hermione blinked. "Right! A celebration!" She positively ran to the kitchen and popped the bottle with her wand. As she poured it into a flute, she wondered why her hands shook ever so slightly. "Oh, stop being an idiot, Hermione," she muttered. Sighing, she returned to the living room to finish her drink with Snape.

x

"You know, Ms. Granger, if you intend on attracting a wizard of any caliber above 'dunderhead,' you'd do well to not dress like a tatterdemalion."

Hermione glanced down at her big pajama pants covered in a pattern of goats and the threadbare tawny robe thrown over the whole ensemble. "What? You think my date won't find me attractive in this?"

Snape snorted. And chuckled. Hermione felt her insides go a bit warm at his laugh. It was the sixth— or was it the seventh?- time she'd made him laugh but every time, she felt as though it were one of her biggest accomplishments.

"Relax, Professor," she said. "I'm going to change."

"Thank Merlin for that."

When she stepped out in her _real_ outfit— a high-necked spaghetti-strapped maroon dress— he held a book in his lap, his eyes down. "How's this, Professor?"

She nearly giggled at how his mouth dropped ever so slightly. His hooded eyes trailed down her form, settling on the high slit in her leg as she walked toward him, her heels clicking on the wood floor.

He forced his face back to an impenetrable stare. "Acceptable."

"I will take that as an extraordinary compliment, coming from you," Hermione said, grabbing her bag.

"You should." Snape coughed. "Because you look… extraordinary."

Hermione smiled, pink on her cheeks. "Thank you, Professor."

x

Hermione lunged into her flat, not even bothering with the lights. She sat on her sofa slowly, wiping away the absurd, useless tears on her cheeks.

"Ms. Granger?"

Hermione looked up. "Oh," she said, her voice catching. "I didn't think you'd wait up."

Snape's face was expressionless, all save his eyes, which took on a look of worry. "Did he hurt you?"

Hermione stared at her maroon dress, thinking of what a beautiful waste it'd turned out to be. "No. No. Not in the physical sense."

She swallowed and glanced up. "Professor, when you look at me, do you think I'm a muggleborn?" She paused. "I mean, I know I am one, but when you see me, do you say, 'oh there goes that muggleborn…'" she trailed off, wondering if she looked as idiotic as she felt.

There was no sound for several long seconds. Finally, Snape cleared his throat. "When I look at you, I see a witch. A woman. Perhaps one of the most brilliant and irritating women I've ever had the pleasure to spend an extended amount of time with. But no, I do not qualify those nouns with 'muggleborn.' Unless the context calls for it. For instance, when we discuss your parents."

Hermione took a deep breath and gave him a sad smile. "Thank you, Professor." She stood. "I'm going to bed now."

x

Hermione ran into the living room from her front door, sitting on the sofa with a sigh. This time, she hadn't worn such a pretty dress. So it hadn't been as disappointing as the last time, she supposed.

"I take it your date didn't go well?" It somehow didn't surprise her that he'd waited again.

Hermione buried her head in her hands as a response. "I don't even know why I bother."

"You're lonely." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not lonely," Hermione retorted. "I have Harry and Gin." Both of whom she hadn't seen in weeks. "And Crooks. And you." Both of whom were dead. After a moment, she took in a shuddering breath. "You're right," she wailed. "I'm _am_ pathetic."

"Ms. Granger, I didn't say—"

But she'd already marched off into the kitchen. When she returned, she held two opened bottles of wine. "One for me and one for you," she said. "Oh, but you can't drink. Oh, well, two for me." She swigged the bottle back.

"Ms. Granger…"

Oh, but with that one swig, coupled with all the glasses of pinot she'd consumed at dinner, she was already halfway to drunk. And so she started babbling about some things she'd only had the nerve to think about thus far.

"I've been researching, Professor. And I still don't understand how you can change your clothes." She approached the portrait, so closely that Snape took a step back, his eyes wide. "Did the artist paint an armoire in there, somewhere?"

He opened his mouth to respond, but she continued, "The only thing I've read that can make any bit of sense is that you're _not dead_. You've made this enchanted two-way mirror portrait thing to make everyone think you're dead but you're _not_. It's what Heroqious Benargalin did in the thirteenth century. Wanted to spy on his family to see if they'd properly mourn him. Spoiler: they did not." Hermione took a long, long drink, not noting the look of panic on Snape's face. "But that's dumb, isn't it, Professor? I mean, I watched you die. With my own eyes."

He didn't respond. He looked frozen, like a proper muggle portrait. "Is it dumb that I wish that you hadn't?" she asked. "Not that I was ever _okay_ with it. But the more time you and I…"

She sighed. "Nevermind. I know I sound dumb. You don't have to reassure me." She looked at the bottles. "I'll put these away."

As she rummaged in the kitchen, Snape finally snapped out of it. "You don't sound dumb at all, Ms Granger." It was hardly above a whisper.

"Did you say something, Professor?" she called. When she came 'round again, though, he was gone.

x

"There you are!" Hermione said, leaving the kitchen with a bottle of Bailey's and a bar of chocolate. "Where have you been?"

Snape glared at her, his face blank. "Visiting… other portraits," he said.

She snorted. "Right. Visiting. 'Cause you were so fond of _visiting_ when you were alive."

Snape eyed her drink. "What's the occasion?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Friday night." When Snape raised an eyebrow, she sighed. "While you were away, I started seeing this bloke."

Snape's jaw tightened. "Who?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I mean, I thought he and I were exclusive, but as it turns out, he had several witches on the side. Or maybe I was one of the side-witches. Anyway, like I said. Doesn't matter!" She poured another.

"How much of that have you had, Ms. Granger?"

"What, this? It's mostly milk!"

"Ms. Granger—"

"Do you know the last time I had sex, Professor?"

Well, this caused his mouth to snap back shut.

"Two. Years. Two _fucking_ years." She finished her glass and poured another. "Gods, this is delicious."

Snape continued to stare at her, bewildered.

"A woman has needs, Professor. I mean, there's only so many times I can masturbate alone." She whipped her head up. "Well, I'm _not_ alone, exactly. Am I?"

Now Snape looked full-on panicked. "Ms. Granger—"

"No, wait right there. Don't you move. I'll be right back." Hermione stumbled into her bedroom.

When she returned, she walked right up to him, hips swaying, full-on _giggling_ at his response. His eyes were wide— _very_ wide— and mouth had dropped _way_ open. It was sort of fun seeing Snape in veritable shock.

"Do you like it?" she asked, gesturing to the lace. She laughed. "Slytherin green and all." She furrowed her brow. "I was thinking of a _very specific_ Slytherin when I bought it." She walked away, giving him a full view of her arse in a g-string and settled on the couch.

"What would you do if you were here, Professor?" she asked. "If I were actually in front of you, wearing this?"

Snape's mouth opened, but only a huff of air came out.

"Would you touch me?"

His chest rose and fell rapidly. She smiled and pulled the straps of her bralette down, revealing her breasts. She was certain she'd heard a squeak emanate from the portrait's direction.

"Would you touch my tits? Would you suck them?" She ran her hands over her chest, causing her nipples to harden. She flicked them with her fingers and arched her back, spreading her legs out so that her feet rested on her ottoman.

Finally, he spoke. "Ms. Granger, this is _completely_ inappropriate." His voice was hoarse.

Hermione gave him an innocent grin. "You could always leave, Snape." She lifted her hips and slowly pulled her g-string off. "Or you could watch like a _good little pet_." She opened her legs, giving him a _full_ -fledged view. He sucked in air so tight, she thought be might be on the verge of passing out.

"Are you turned on, Professor? Do portraits get erections?"

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Do you want to know what I would do, Professor, if you were here?"

He nodded, this time a little harder.

She slid a finger inside of herself, resting her head back on the sofa. "I'd make you take me to dinner first. I love the way you think and, and _move_. I'd enjoy that, I think." She slipped in another finger. "Then I'd, _gods,_ that feels good." She fucked herself just a bit faster. "I'd take you back here. Or your place. And I'd suck you off. Immediately. Just pull your cock out and ram it into my mouth." She pulled her fingers out and ran them over her clit, moaning, rocking her hips.

Her voice cracked as she continued. "I'd push you into the bedroom and make you return the favor. I'd push you on the bed and sit on your face. I'd rub my pussy on your mouth, your tongue… your nose."

Now, Snape looked as though he were hyperventilating.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." It was a whisper.

"Would you make me come, Professor?"

"Yes." An even softer whisper.

"Good." Hermione smiled. "After I came on your mouth, Professor, I'd _ride_ your cock. And you'd hold off for me, wouldn't you? You wouldn't be anything like those awful wizards I'd dated in the past. You'd wait until I came _two_ more times." Her legs shook as she dragged her soaked fingers over her clit again.

"Do you want me to come now, Professor?"

He nodded. Never breaking eye contact, she rubbed herself harder, faster. Finally, she threw her head back and moaned, her body convulsing.

When she glanced up again, she was pleased to see that Snape looked about as sexually frustrated as Hermione'd felt for the better part of two years. She curled on the sofa, smiling. "That was fun," she murmured. "Gods, I wish you weren't dead, Snape." Then she fell asleep.

x

SEVERUS SNAPE: NOT DEAD read the headline on the Prophet the next morning. A photo of Snape speaking with the Minister played itself over and over again in Hermione's trembling hands.

She glanced up at his empty portrait.

"No. _Fucking_. Way."

x

 _Hermione,_

 _Hey, everything alright? Gin tried to floo call you last week. Also, you haven't answered my owls…_

 _As I said, I've actually got to see him. Again. I can hardly believe it, but he did survive Nagini's bite. Apparently he's been hiding out in Spinner's End, where he charmed his house to look nonexistent and unapproachable._

 _He's been asking about you, Hermione. Not outright, of course. You know him. I think he'd like to see you. Let me know. We can all have dinner, you and Gin and Snape. Jesus, I can't believe I wrote that out, but… let me know._

 _We miss you._

 _Harry_

x

 _Hermione,_

 _Hey, I know you're busy with that potioneering project. I'd forgotten about it. Sorry to bother you so much this week. Of course we can do dinner next month. I know you don't want him to be there, but consider it, Hermione. He's done so much for us. He just wants to see you, I think. He actually called you his, and I quote, 'cleverest student.' He might want to apologize for all the nasty things he said when he taught us. Haha. I know, fat change. Who knows, though?_

 _Either way, get back to us next month. We love you._

 _Harry_

x

 _Hermione,_

 _I might've let it slip to Snape where you live so he might pop on—_

A knock resounded at the door. Hermione felt her stomach flip immediately as she gave it a sideways glance.

She knew it was him. It had to be. Harry's letter was already a day old, giving Snape time to figure out his… approach.

Hermione jumped when the knock came again, louder this time. She narrowed her eyes, grabbed the portrait she hadn't seen him adorn in weeks and marched to the door.

Swinging it open, revealing none other than her former potions Professor, in... soft blue linen? She blinked, having expected his typical black wool. It only gave her a moment's hesitation, however. She pulled the frame back and slapped it over his head.

He jumped away just in time. "Ms. Granger!"

"You foul, filthy man!" she yelled, swiping at his chest. "Let me think you were bloody dead! Watched me as I—" she stopped, glancing around the hallway. " _Did things_ ," she whispered.

"You were rather intent on _doing things_ regardless of my living state," he responded. "Which, might I add, wasn't very polite to do to a dead man."

"Good thing you're alive, then!" she shrieked, hitting his arm with the frame. "Now I can properly kill you!"

"Ms. Granger." His voice was calm, though his stance was one of defense. "If you'll allow me to explain." He swallowed. "Please."

x

They sat in silence at the restaurant. Hermione fingered her firewhisky. She wasn't overly fond of the drink, but she figured there was probably nothing strong enough for this situation. Firewhisky came the closest.

"I'm sorry," he began. "For making you think I was dead." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "And for allowing you to… _do things_."

Hermione's cheeks burned as she finished her shot in a gulp.

x

"So you just didn't want to deal with all the press and post-war accolades?"

"Essentially."

Hermione nodded. "They were awful. They _are_ awful. As you're now experiencing."

"Indeed." He looked at her long, dropping his eyes over her body for a half second before returning to his meal. "Though there are some… benefits in coming out of hiding."

Hermione signaled for another drink.

x

Snape sighed. She leaned against her door frame, hand on hip, body angled towards him. "I apologize again," he said. "Please let me know if you need anything. If I can repay you for your troubles. Professionally," he added quickly, noting the look on her face.

He turned, but stopped. He didn't face her as he spoke again. "Ms. Granger, after the war, I felt like there was nothing to live for. I spent my days... and nights… alone. Until six months ago when you committed forgery and theft of my... portrait." He paused. "You made me want to live again. So thank you." He made to walk away, but Hermione caught him by the shoulder.

"Come inside, Professor," she said.

He hesitated, glancing at the door.

She smiled cautiously. "Don't you want to see, in person, this place you're been staring at for six months?"

He took several seconds, but finally nodded with a twinge of something— fear? Lust?- in his eyes.

x

"Are you sure?" he rasped, his back against her living room bookcase. He glanced down at her as she slowly unzipped his trousers.

"Yes," she said, gently pulling out his erection and lapping at his sensitive tip.

He dropped his head back, hard, against a book. "Fuck," he groaned.

She wrapped her mouth around him and gave a hearty suck. " _Fuck_ ," he practically shouted. She chuckled, causing him to drop his head and moan once more.

X

"You're not getting out of this one," he grumbled, pulling her towards him on the bed.

"That was just— just a fantasy—" she stopped speaking as she felt his breath on her. She glanced down at his eyes, positioned just _so_ between her thighs.

He splayed her legs so she settled even lower. When his tongue met her clit, she had to grab the headboard to keep from collapsing. "Oh, god," she whispered.

He pulled her clit with his lips and she couldn't stop her body from shaking. "Again." she whispered. "Just one more and I—- _ohhh_ , Professor, _yes_!"

x

"Harder," she said, and he tightened his grip on her hips, thrashing her on his cock.

After a dozen thrusts, she came so hard, she stopped breathing for a few seconds. He slowed as she sucked in air. "I believe I owe you one more," he said simply. Then he flipped her over.

x

Hermione sighed, her head on his chest, hand on his hip. He traced lazy circles over her back, making gooseflesh appear on her skin.

"Told you I'd get my revenge," she murmured.

Snape gave a laugh, the sort that made her heart swell with accomplishment. "It was…" He paused. "Exquisite." His hands reached her bottom. "I wouldn't object to another round of your _revenge_."

"Mm," she said, pushing up. "This time, you start on top."

* * *

 _Updated Lemon Tree queue:_

 _1\. smithback: Harry/Andromeda and/or Hermione/Salazar_

 _2\. Guest: Tom Riddle, Jr./Harry and/or Sirius/Harry_

 _3\. Me: Dramione (I'm indulging myself based on a prompt I feel I must finish)_

 _4\. SereneDreamm: Hermione/Tom Riddle and/or Hermione/Bill_

 _5\. Onyx Obsidian: Molly/Arthur_

 _6\. Fraulein Takoor: Hermione/Sirius_

 _7\. Guest: DM/HG/SS triad_

 _8_ _. munzke11: Charlie/Hermione and/or Dramione_

 _9\. AwesomePhotographer: Charlie/Hermione and/or Harry/Ginny_

 _10\. Me: Pansy/Neville (I know, it's weird, but the muse is INSISTING and so I'm going with it.)_

 _I hope I didn't miss anyone! Let me know if something's amiss. Also let me know via reviews if you have something you'd like to be added to the queue._

 _Thanks you all SO MUCH for reading & reviewing. _


	7. A Different Sort of Dessert

_A sweet lemon for smithback, who requested this pair._

* * *

A Different Sort of Dessert: Andromeda/Harry

"Hey, Meda!"

Andromeda wiped her hands on a towel. "Harry? Teddy? I'm in the kitchen!"

"Nan!"

She nearly fell over as Teddy threw his arms around her legs. "Hello there! Good to see you too!"

Teddy's hair had turned pink at the sight of her. It always did when he was breathless with excitement. She didn't— couldn't mention, actually— how it made her ache just a little, to see that shade paired with those eyes. Instead, she dropped her hands to his shoulders, smoothing out his shirt.

"Nan!" he gasped, his hair growing a bit blue on the edges. "Harry got me the Lightning Shot 6.0!"

"Did he now?" Andromeda raised her eyebrows at Harry, who gave her a sheepish smile.

"Can I try it now? Please, please, can I—"

Andromeda looked at the clock. "Twenty minutes. And do not go any higher than—"

"Than the plum tree. Got it." A blur of hot pink and green whizzed past her, slamming the back door shut.

"Sorry," Harry said immediately. "I know we talked about it for his birthday, but—"

"Oh, Harry. You know your job is to spoil him."

He walked over, hands in his pockets. "I thought that was the grandmother's job."

Andromeda laughed. "If it were my job, I would be making chocolate chip cookies right now. Not—"

"What _is_ that?" Harry had lifted a finger to poke at one of the bars. She smacked his hand away.

"Blueberry breakfast cookies," she said, levitating a spatula to scoop the rest of the batter into the pan. "Teddy hasn't been hungry in the mornings—"

"Still?"

She sighed. "Still."

"From the night terrors, you think?"

"I don't know." She gazed out the window, where Teddy swooped under the plum tree, his hair moss green to match it. "Anyway, these are great for on the way to school."

She opened the oven and bent to push the new tray of batter in. As she shut it, she caught a curious sight on the reflection. Harry's eyes were on her— which wasn't necessarily all that odd. But they were right on her _arse_. And they were _following_ it, as she shifted a little to turn the oven light on with her wand.

Stop being silly, she told herself. As she stood, she turned, where Harry was still staring at her skirt.

Andromeda knew she oughtn't say a word about it, but she just _had_ to see if she was being a complete idiot or... "Oh, Harry," she said, straightening the skirt. "Am I just covered in flour?"

"What?" Harry said, snapping his head up.

"Do I have a lot of flour on me?" she asked, gesturing to her hips. "I was wondering what you were looking at."

By the time she'd finished her sentence, Harry's face was flushed red. "I— uh— no, no, not at all, Andromeda." He ran his fingers through his hair and turned. "I better head out, actually."

"I thought you said you were staying for dinner?"

"Not— well, I—"

"Something came up?"

Harry nodded, chugging on his water bottle.

Andromeda smiled. "A date, perhaps?"

Harry chuckled. "Not quite. Uh." He looked down, the pink returning to his cheeks. "Speaking of, Meda—"

"NAN! I FOUND A GNOME!"

Harry paused, his hand tight on the bottle. "I was wondering—"

"NAN! IT BIT ME!"

Andromeda and Harry both laughed. "I should probably…" she said, gesturing outside.

"Right, of course. Like I said, I need to go, too. I'll see you Saturday, yeah?"

"Of course! I've already prepped the lasagna."

"Can't wait." He waved and made for her floo.

Andromeda paused until she heard the woosh of the fire die out. "Odd," she muttered. Out of nowhere, she heard Fleur Weasley's voice. _The way he looks at you, Andromeda. Don't tell me you don't see it._

"NAN!"

"Coming!"

x

"Camping with the Weasleys?"

Harry nodded. "I completely forgot about it. I mean, Teddy doesn't have to go, of course—"

"Oh, Christ, Harry, he'll be devastated. He's already packed his bags." She sighed. "Of course he can go. We can always skip Saturday dinner—"

"I thought you said you already prepped for the lasagna?"

Andromeda waved her hand. "Oh, I could always freeze it."

"No, no," Harry said. "Bring it over. Please. I love your lasagna, and besides, I've nothing better to do tomorrow."

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "Your enthusiasm moves me, Harry."

Harry's brows dropped. "I mean, that's not what I meant—"

She laughed. "I'm teasing you. Dinner would be great. I'll just pop by at seven as usual?"

"I will supply the drink and salad and dessert, as usual," he responded, his eyes dropping to her hips, then up again, a pink tinge moving to his ears.

Christ Almighty, Andromeda thought as she went to go over Teddy's luggage before sending him off. Did I just agree to a date with Harry bloody Potter?

x

"Ah," Fleur said, laundry basket in hand as Andromeda stepped through the floo. "Go ahead to the nook. The tea's all ready. I'll be right there."

Shell Cottage was unusually quiet. "Right," Andromeda muttered. "The camping trip." Certainly each of Fleur's children were there. Certainly half of Teddy's enthusiasm over the trip came from the weekend-long proximity to fairy-esque Victoire.

Andromeda chuckled to herself, pouring two cups of rose-mint tea.

"What's is it?" Fleur sat primly in the seat across from Andromeda.

"Just thinking about how annoyed your daughter is going to be all weekend, having Teddy following her like a willful owl."

Fleur laughed. "She can pretend all she wants, but I know I found a photo of him in one of her school books."

"Oh, that's right." Andromeda buried her face in her hands. "Please tell them to stop growing up, will you? I'm not ready to be a great-grandmother."

Fleur threw her head back and laughed. "Merlin, Andromeda! They're seven and eight." She took a sip of her tea, a smirk forming on her face. "Harry told me you two are still on for dinner tomorrow?" She winked. "Wouldn't be why you called for an emergency tea session, would it?"

"No, no." Andromeda vigorously shook her head. "Of course not." Under Fleur's raised eyebrow, she lowered her eyes to her tea cup. "Christ, Fleur," she said. "Well, yes, I am a bit nervous! And it's all your fault."

" _My_ fault?"

"For putting ideas in my head about the boy!"

"He's twenty-five, Andromeda."

"And I'm forty-one, Fleur. The exact reason why he should have no interest in m—"

"And yet he does." Fleur smiled into her tea cup, her brow raised. "What will you be wearing?"

"Oh, probably the same thing I always wear, one of my dinner dresses—"

"I mean _under_ the dress."

Andromeda huffed, but she couldn't stop the widening of her eyes or the lurch of her stomach. Fleur smirked even harder. Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush, you. Like I said, this is all your fault. If you hadn't gotten this bloody _theory_ of yours in my head, I wouldn't have _thought_ I saw Harry checking out my arse, nor _almost_ ask me out on a date—"

"He what?" Fleur lowered her cup. "Merlin, I didn't realize he was already trying to get you into bed—"

"Since when does a date equal a bed?"

"Since you caught him staring at your arse." Fleur grinned. "Can't tell you how many times I've caught him undressing you with his eyes—"

"Fleur, please."

"Black lace."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Under the dress." Fleur grinned. "Make sure a sliver can be seen when you _move_ in the dress."

"I didn't ask for tea so you could tell me how to seduce him."

"After dinner," Fleur continued, ignoring Andromeda with a raised brow, "when he offers dessert, say, of course. Then settle your mouth between his le—"

"Fleur!"

Fleur smiled. "Don't act like you don't want to."

Andromeda shook her head. "That's quite enough." And yet… she didn't disagree with Fleur's accusation. Thankfully, Fleur was willing to drop it.

"Fine. We'll change the subject."

"Thank Merlin."

x

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Andromeda watched in horror as her oven wheezed and rumbled, the fire dying away before it could really get lit once more. She knew she theoretically could just bake the thing with magic, but she really hadn't ever learned those kitchen spells properly, pureblood witch that she was. The last time she'd tried, she'd burned half the meal and she and Ted had to order pizza on one of those muggle ear callers.

Well, Harry has a working oven, she thought. Certainly he won't be upset if I'm an hour early. Andromeda was usually thirty minutes early as it was, since Teddy tended to pull her through the floo the second she was dressed, not being able to wait a moment longer to see his godfather.

"Harry?" she called, stepping into his sitting room. Evening light fled into all corners of the ground floor, and she sighed happily. 12 Grimmauld Place was absolutely dreadful during the war. She couldn't blame Sirius for despising his confinement. But Harry, with the help of Hermione, had transformed it into a cozy retreat, filled with soft furniture, extra windows, potted herbs growing here and there.

Andromeda popped the pan into Harry's oven, noticing a bottle of wine already in an ice bath. "Merlin," she murmured, fingering the glass. Harry'd selected a Domaine de la Lunette Chambertin Grand Cru, circa 1998. This must've cost two thousand galleons— at least. Knowing Harry wasn't one to know many details about wine, much less spend such an absurd amount on a single bottle, she wondered if this were a gift from some high-ranking government official.

She pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the copper watering can. " _Aguamenti_." Then she set about her weekly task of making certain Harry didn't succeed in killing all the herbs.

She froze when she heard a muffled grunt.

"Harry?" she called down the hallway.

Merlin, it was a huge house. You'd never know it from the outside, but every time she visited, she was struck by how many rooms there were. This, coming from a woman raised at Black Manor, she chuckled to herself.

She stopped when she saw Harry's room was open. "Har—"

Her mouth snapped shut. She took a step back, her knees decidedly weak.

Harry Potter was lying in bed. Without his shirt on.

He had a nice figure; well-sculpted from vigorous Auror assignments. Andromeda had noticed this years ago.

But it wasn't Harry's bare chest that had startled her.

It was his dick.

Long, thick. _Hard._ Exposed, currently being pulled and fondled by Harry's own right hand.

She thanked the gods his eyes were shut tight and that he hadn't heard her. She knew she ought to tiptoe away and pretend like she hadn't seen this. It was natural, yes, but also _none_ of her business— _hold on a second_ , did he just say—

"Meda," he groaned, his hand slicking pre-come over his length.

He did. He said Meda.

 _Now_ Andromeda turned and ran. She soundlessly opened and closed the bathroom door and turned to the sink, her chest heaving.

Christ on a cracker. Fleur was right.

x

"The lasagna's delicious," Harry said, running a napkin over his mouth. The same mouth Andromeda had caught herself leering at four times already. At least.

"Thank you." She adjusted the napkin in her lap and reached for her wine again. Harry grabbed the bottle to refill her glass— also for the fourth time that evening.

"You're not very hungry?" Harry said, gesturing to her plate.

"Oh, just a bit worried about Teddy," she said, forking another bite into her mouth.

Harry nodded, a half-smile on his face. "You know, they're all just fine. Molly, Arthur, Bill, Angelina _and_ George are all there. I mean, sure, there'll be pranks and _plenty_ of sugar, but—" he pushed his hand out and placed it on hers. "He'll be fine, Meda."

Andromeda stared at his hand on hers, large and warm and—

"Meda?"

She looked up, blinking. "Oh, sorry Harry. My mind was wandering." She chuckled, hoping it came off natural.

"Hey, it's okay. I know you're worried." He smiled, lifting his hand. "I was just asking if you liked the wine."

Right, the wine. It was exquisite. She told him so.

Harry grinned. "Thought you'd like it."

Andromeda swallowed. "Where'd you get it? The Chambertin?"

Harry shrugged. "I just— at the store. I had a great deal of help, picking that one out. But I knew you deserved something special tonight. I mean, I wanted you to really enjoy this, ah, da—"

"Excuse me, Harry," she said, standing. "Just off to the restroom. I'll be right back." He stood as well, something Harry rarely did. She idly wondered who had given Harry a lesson in pureblood manners.

In the restroom, she cursed herself for not having one of those ear-callers to just bloody _talk_ to Fleur instantaneously. So, staring at the mirror, she tried to conjure what Fleur would say to her in this scenario.

"He's twenty-five."

 _He wants you_ , Imaginary Fleur responded.

"Do you realize how perky the breasts are of the women he normally beds?"

 _He wants you, Andromeda._

"Christ. I can't do this."

 _You want him._

"I know I do, but—"

 _The potion, Andromeda._

Right, the potion, the potion. Andromeda pulled the tiny bottle from her bra— yes, bloody black lace, thank you very much. She could almost feel Imaginary Fleur smirking at her.

Real Fleur had given Andromeda this at tea— a confidence potion. "Just a drop," she'd said. "Just in case." Then she'd winked before kissing Andromeda's cheeks and sending her off.

Andromeda threw back the potion. It really wasn't more than a drop or two, but she could feel its effects immediately.

She glanced at her reflection and smiled. Then she unbuttoned the top of her dress- just a button. But enough so that, when she reached for her wine at the table, a sliver of the black lace would show.

x

"I mean, we were just covered in the flobberworms. I think Ron had about a gallon inside his pants, alone."

Andromeda laughed into her wine glass along with Harry. Merlin, she loved his laugh.

"Thankfully Kingsley let us have a three-day weekend after that. We needed it, if nothing else, for the paperw—"

Harry stopped speaking abruptly, his eyes directly on Andromeda's chest as she placed the wine back on the table.

"Everything alright, Harry?"

"Oh, what? Yes. Yes. I was— ah—" He threw back the rest of his glass.

Andromeda smiled at the pink in his cheeks. "I think I'm ready for dessert."

"Are you?" Harry straightened. "Well, Meda, you know I'm not a baker. I just bought some pies from the—"

"Actually, Harry, I was thinking of a different sort of dessert." She stood and walked toward him, slowly.

Harry's brow was furrowed, but he stood and gestured to the window. "You don't like pies? We could always go out and—"

She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back in his seat, firmly. "I was thinking something a bit more… _salty_."

Harry's brow furrowed further. "What, like those chocolate crisps Ron's always going on—" Harry's words were caught by a quick inhale as Andromeda's fingers reached the button of his trousers.

"I was thinking…" She slipped to her knees, settling herself between his. "Something… like…" She pulled his zipper down, slowly, marveling at the erection already attempting to jut its way out. "Is this alright, Harry?" she asked, glancing up.

Harry's eyes were wide and his breath, wild. He gulped.

Andromeda felt a wave of insecurity pass over her, but then she remembered his name upon her lips as he touched himself, and she gave him a glittering smile. "Would you like me to suck your cock, Harry?" she asked, hardly believing the words as she heard them, but knowing this was _exactly_ what she wanted to say all the same.

His mouth dropped opened. "Is this really happening?" he asked, his voice soft.

"If you want it to." Andromeda placed a hand on his knee.

"I just— I just can't believe that _you_ want it."

Andromeda's hand had been reaching for his crotch, but it froze mid-air. Why, she wondered, wouldn't he believe it?

Because you're old, she told herself. Because you're a bloody grandmother in black lace, for Merlin's sake, on your knees in front of a man nearly half your age, Andromeda, _what_ are you thinking?

She stood, her hands shaking.

"Meda?" Harry grabbed her hand. "Is everything— are you—"

She pulled back. "I'm so sorry, Harry, I don't know what got into me. Of course you wouldn't—" She took a step back. "I don't know why I thought you would—" Another step, and this time Harry stood, his arms reaching for her, his eyes desperate. "I've had too much to drink," she concluded, and promptly flung into his floo, ignoring his calls behind her.

x

"I can't believe I just did that," she muttered. Clearly, Fleur's confidence potion hadn't worked. Or worse, it did work, but just enough for her to make a fool of herself. And run the fuck away.

She stared at her floo, wondering if it was too late to barge in on Fleur, demanding her to do something to clear this mess she'd made. The mess I've made, Andromeda clarified. Christ, did I really just—

"Meda?"

Andromeda gasped at the vision of Harry walking through her fireplace. Jesus, why on earth hadn't she locked the fl—

His mouth on hers. That was all she could process. His lips, warm and tasting like 2000-galleon wine, and before she knew it, she'd sucked his bottom lip in her teeth, and he groaned, his body pressing into her more deeply, his erection taut against her belly.

He broke the kiss first. "I want this," he said, gesturing to her body. "I want you, Meda." Then he dropped to his knees.

Andromeda felt her body slacken against the wall behind her as Harry's hands ran up her calves, as his mouth ran over the sensitive skin by her knee. By the time he'd reached her thighs, some sense had returned. Just a lick of it, really, the last of her insecurities that hadn't melted under Harry's ministrations.

"I'm too old for you," she said, so low she wasn't sure if he'd hear.

But his hands stopped moving and he looked up at her and shook his head. "No," he whispered, his voice stained. "You're not."

And with devastating certainty, Harry reached to her hips and pulled her black lace knickers all the way off.

"Are you sure?" Andromeda said as he grabbed her leg and placed it on his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

He lifted her dress, his eyes hooding immediately at the sight of her, bare, _completely_ bare because she'd read that was what the young women were doing nowadays, and from the look on his face, she didn't need a verbal response.

He leaned in and flicked his tongue on her clit. She jumped, grabbing a hold of his hair, slick and black in her hands. He flicked his tongue again and when his eyes darted up, he gave her a half smile before pressing his face to her, opening and sliding his whole mouth, warm and wet, _all_ over the warmth and wetness of her.

Andromeda'd forgotten what this was like, how fucking _good_ it was, to be properly tongued, and before she could scold herself for going so long without, he slipped a finger in her and she _moaned_.

Harry groaned immediately, and so she moaned again, instantly rewarded with the vibrations of his voice on her cunt. He slipped another finger in and she jerked her hips down to get them in deeper, to get his tongue on her harder, right _there, oh god, right there_ —

The orgasm came fast, heating the entirety of her lower body with exquisite waves of almost torturous pleasure. He licked her though it, and as sensitivity overcame her, she gently pushed his head back. "That's enough," she whispered, and she knew it was a lie as she said it.

He stood immediately, his cock straining the front of his trousers.

"How long?" she asked. She sounded half-strangled.

"How long what?" A smiled toyed on his face. "How long have I wanted you? Or loved you?"

A sharp intake of air was her only response.

"You didn't know?" he asked, frowning. "I thought— at dinner tonight, with the whole dessert thing—"

She grabbed his hips and flung him towards her. For the second time that evening, she unbuttoned his slacks.

His hands went to hers, stilling them. "Are you— you're sure?"

"For Christ's sake, Harry." She slid his cock out and he whimpered as she ran her palm down its length. "I'm unsure about just about everything in my life right now." She looked in his eyes. "But not this." She lifted her leg to wrap around him and he— mercifully— got the hint and lifted her, her back roughened against the wall. She tightened her legs so that he slipped inside her fast and hard, and his moan was loud in her ear as he dropped his head.

"You feel so good," he murmured, and he pulled his erection and dove back in, developing a moderate pace.

Andromeda watched the tension in his neck and jaw, at the strain of his eyebrows. "Why are you holding back?" she asked after a bit.

"I don't—" Harry paused, a blush creeping up his neck. "I don't want to… come... too soon."

Andromeda smiled. "We have all night, Harry. Don't we?"

His eyes widened and he grinned as he thrust harder. She gasped, her eyes rolling back and so he did it harder, and harder still, until she was certain he was going to fuck her through the wall, but Christ she didn't care because she was gonna—

She said his name as she came, her whole body pulsing around him, and he groaned as he convulsed spectacularly in return.

She felt herself sliding to the floor, and he went along with her, laughing into her shoulder.

"What's so funny?" she asked, smiling, half-dazed.

"I just can't believe I finally— we finally—"

Andromeda cut him off with a kiss, sliding her tongue into his mouth, grinning when she felt his length harden over her thigh. Ah, she thought. The treasures of youth.

When she broke the kiss, she looked into the emerald of his eyes. "I love you too, Harry."

His jaw dropped before he grinned once more. He climbed on top of her and pulled her dress down, nipping her breasts through the black lace. "I love you," he murmured over her nipple. "I love you," he said again after several licks.

She nudged him over and pulled his shirt off, proceeding to make use of their first of _many_ nights.

* * *

 _Updated Lemon Tree queue:_

 _1\. Guest: Tom Riddle, Jr./Harry and/or Sirius/Harry_

 _2\. Me: Dramione (I'm indulging myself based on a prompt I feel I must finish)_

 _3\. SereneDreamm: Hermione/Tom Riddle and/or Hermione/Bill_

 _4\. Onyx Obsidian: Molly/Arthur_

 _5\. Fraulein Takoor: Hermione/Sirius_

 _6\. Guest: DM/HG/SS triad (also requested by another guest, Lady of the King and Fraulein Takoor! Thank you for your enthusiasm- I have raunchy writing plans with these three)_

 _7\. munzke11: Charlie/Hermione and/or Dramione_

 _8\. AwesomePhotographer: Charlie/Hermione and/or Harry/Ginny_

 _9\. Me: Pansy/Neville (I know, it's weird, but the muse is INSISTING and so I'm going with it.)_

 _10\. Guest: MF/HG/AP (Guest, would you clarify the AP portion of this one- do you mean Antioch Peverell?)_

 _11\. Fraulein Takoor: Dramione_

 _12\. PotterPrincess18: ALBUS/MINERVA! ALBUS/MINERVA! (ha, love it!)_

 _Please let me know if I've missed anything._

 _I know this update has been a little while coming and I apologize for how busy I've been!_

 _Thank you for all of your kind words! I'm still so happy with your requests and so looking forward to writing them all out._

 _Hope you are all well!_


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